by Angela Hunt
Horror ran down my spine as I realized yet another reason he might have been on the side of the road. His parents might have left him because they could not repair his tongue. A mute child who could barely eat would face a short and dismal future . . .
I am ashamed to admit it, but in that instant I wished I had not stopped to investigate the sound in the grasses. Some other woman’s problem had just become mine and Joanna’s, and I was less equipped to deal with it than the boy’s parents had been. How could I care for a child like this? How could Joanna, and what would her husband say if she brought him home?
I drew a deep breath, drowning in waves of guilt. “My father”—I lowered my voice—“says I tend to fill my plate with more than my stomach can hold. This time I have outdone myself.”
Joanna had already proven herself a kind woman, but even she had no answer for our dilemma. Distress filled her eyes, and I was fairly certain she was experiencing the same regret. What could be done for this boy? A surgeon might be able to remove the tongue, but having no tongue might be worse than what the boy currently had. A doctor might try to sew the two pieces of tongue together, but the result would undoubtedly be clumsy and might leave the child in an even worse condition.
I broke off another piece of bread, but before giving it to Joanna, I pressed it into the thinnest layer possible. Maybe he could manage it . . .
“Do not be afraid.”
I started as a male voice came out of the darkness. Joanna and I had been so focused on the child, we had not paid attention to the area outside the tiny circle of lamplight. A man stepped forward, a tanned and grizzled fisherman, I surmised, for he carried a basket of fish in one hand and a net in the other.
He nodded to us. “I did not mean to frighten you, but I got a late start coming back. I will just pass by . . .” He hesitated, looking at the flattened bread in my hand, then glanced at our spare campsite. “Have you nothing else to eat?”
“Our companion has gone into town to get food,” I said, not wanting this stranger to linger.
“But you are hungry now. Here.” He opened the hinged lid of his basket and pulled out a handful of small fishes. “These are delicious roasted over a fire. And they are tender, for the young lad.”
I thanked him and accepted the fish. “I am Tasmin of Cana, and this is Joanna of Tiberias. We came here to find Yeshua of Nazareth, but we have heard he is gone. Do you know where he went?”
A change came over the man’s features—his polite smile melted into welcoming warmth. “Of course I know. My sons went with him to Jerusalem, where they will celebrate the Passover. I would have gone, but these weary legs can no longer make the journey.” He sank onto the ground and crossed his legs. “I am Zebedee, father to James and John. We were mending our nets right there”—he pointed to a spot next to an overturned boat—“the first time Yeshua came through this area. He called to my sons and asked if they wanted to be fishers of men.” The old man laughed. “I’d never heard such a question, and neither had my sons. They got up and went with him, leaving me and the hired hands to finish the nets. I thought I might not see them for weeks, but two days ago they were back, more convinced than ever that Yeshua is our promised deliverer.”
“But they’re gone,” I said, my voice echoing with despair. “All the way to Jerusalem.”
Zebedee shrugged. “What is to stop you from following them? With Pesach approaching, you won’t be alone on the road. Everyone who is able will be making the pilgrimage.”
I looked at Joanna, and from the weary aspect of her eyes I suspected we were thinking the same thoughts—Jerusalem was a long walk over ground we had already traveled. The roads would be crowded and the walk slow. The Passover pilgrims were usually a happy bunch, for the festival was a highlight of the year, yet I would not be happy, and neither would Jude. With every step, my distress over Thomas and my antipathy toward Jude’s brother would strengthen.
And yet if I wanted Thomas to come home, I had to go. I had no other choice.
I didn’t know how Jude would feel about traveling on, but one thing was certain—we all had good reasons for moving forward, so we would go to the Holy City. But when Jude and I finally found our wandering family members, we would not be happy with them.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tasmin
The first thing I heard when I awoke was the trill of birdsong. The notes had never seemed so clear, so crisp, and so—I opened my eyes—loud. The bird serenading me was perched on the bow of the boat not three paces from my head.
I sat up into a peaceful spring morning. The rhythmic swoosh of the waves was broken only by the sounds of Jude rummaging through the pack saddle. Next to me, the boy slept on his tummy, his thumb in his mouth. Joanna lay next to him, her face slack in repose but still lovely.
I watched Jude for a moment, then hugged my knees. “Are you looking for something?”
He glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. “A fishhook. I thought I might catch something to break our fast.”
“No need.” I uncovered the basket of dried fish Zebedee had left with us. “We met a fisherman last night.”
Something that looked like a smile twitched in and out of the tangles of Jude’s beard. “Why did you not say so?”
After waking Joanna and the boy, we shared a light meal and packed our belongings on the donkey. Before we set out, however, Joanna picked up the child and crinkled her nose in distaste. “He needs a bath,” she said, holding him toward me. “Bathe him in the lake, please. I want to discuss our provisions with Jude.”
I lifted a brow, wondering why she didn’t trust me to discuss our provisions. Certainly she knew more about bathing babies than I did. But because I knew Jude was watching, and because the child did smell, I wrapped the boy in my blanket and took him down to the shore, where a faint white edge of lapping wave proved to be the perfect place for bathing a child. The steady slush and suck of the water filled my ears as I removed the blanket, then lifted my tunic and knelt at the water’s edge.
“Ah.” I gasped at the unexpected coolness of water on my knees, then smiled at the boy. “It’s cold, but we’ll get used to it, won’t we?”
He didn’t answer but put his finger in his mouth and turned, his large brown eyes soberly regarding the sea.
“I’m sorry this will be cold.” I dipped a corner of the blanket into the water. “But we have to make you clean.”
The boy’s skin was caked with dirt, his little bottom red and irritated from filth and bug bites. Not certain how to proceed, I used what I had—water to soften the dirt, mud to gently rub the skin, more water to rinse the mud away. The boy’s teeth chattered when I moved him into water that reached up to his knees, though he did not resist me.
“You’re a good boy,” I told him, smiling. “And as soon as we can, we’ll get you something nice to wear.”
When I could no longer find dirt in every cranny of his little body, I wrapped the dry area of blanket around him and scooped him up in my arms. Jude and Joanna had finished loading the pack saddle, so I draped the blanket over the boy’s shoulders and sat him on top of the mound.
“There.” I crossed my arms and looked around the campsite for anything we might have missed. “I suppose we’re ready to go.”
“What about him?” Jude pointed to the boy. “We have to go through Capernaum, so should we find someone to take him? The journey to Jerusalem is taxing enough without adding the burden of a child.”
“We could stop by the well,” I said. “Most of the town’s women will be there getting water. One of them might be willing to take him.”
“Wait.” Joanna gave the boy a cloth filled with tiny bits of salted fish, then looked at me and Jude. “If Yeshua can change water into wine, he might be able to heal this child.”
I scowled and Jude guffawed. “I don’t believe he turned water into wine,” I said, shaking my head. “Jude and I attended that wedding, and we are convinced he conspired to trick the groom and the gue
sts.”
Joanna smiled. “Conspired with whom?”
“Well . . . we’re not sure.”
“Did you discover some proof of this trickery?”
“Well—” I glanced at Jude.
“I believe,” Joanna went on, “it would be easier for a prophet to work a bona fide miracle than to implement the sort of trick you have implied. Since it is easier to believe in mystery than the trick, why not accept the miracle?”
“Look.” Jude turned to face the older woman. “I have lived with Yeshua all my life. While I can admit he’s a righteous man and a skilled Torah scholar, he was not sent from God. We are sons of Joseph and Mary, and we are as ordinary as sand. Not wealthy. Not connected to anyone powerful. We are simple men from Nazareth, one of the least remarkable towns in Judea.”
“But Isaiah wrote of John the Immerser,” Joanna argued. “A voice cries out in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way of Adonai, Make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’ Isaiah wrote of John, and John testified of Yeshua.”
“Then John was mistaken.” Jude grabbed the donkey’s halter and pointed at the boy, a shadow of annoyance crossing his face. “If you want to take this child to Yeshua, you will have to care for him along the way. Do not let him slow our pace. I have an important job waiting at home.”
Joanna took a step toward Jude and looked up into his eyes. “Have you no heart, young man? This child has his entire life before him. If Yeshua can help him—”
“I have a heart,” Jude replied, his voice going hoarse. “And it is focused on my family. Unlike others, we must work to eat. We have a job waiting in Nazareth, a commission that could feed us for months and take care of our mother. Even Yeshua would profit if he would only return to the work our father left us.”
My stomach clenched when Jude and Joanna turned to me. “You found the boy,” Joanna said, lifting a brow. “What would you like to do with him?”
I looked from one flushed face to the other, then crossed my arms. “We could spend all morning trying to find him a home in Capernaum, but we could also find him a family on the road to Jerusalem. So let’s take him with us. If we haven’t found him a home by the time we reach the Holy City, we can take him to the Temple. The priests might be willing to train him for Temple service.”
My suggestion might not have been the best answer, although it seemed to satisfy Jude—because it would not delay our progress—and Joanna, because the boy would probably be with us when we located Yeshua.
“One thing remains,” Joanna said, smiling at the child. “What do we call him?”
“Nothing,” Jude said. “We will let his new family name him.”
Joanna shot Jude a twisted smile. “We can’t just call him boy.”
“We can,” I answered, not wanting to argue about the name for another hour. “We can call him boy until we find him a home. He’ll know we’re talking to him.”
With the issue settled, we started out, knowing we would walk for days before reaching Jerusalem. If heaven smiled upon us, however, we might encounter Yeshua—and Thomas—on the road.
Finding comfort in that thought, I fell into step beside the donkey.
Zebedee had told the truth—a single day made quite a difference, and the road was much more crowded than it had been when we walked to Capernaum. Because of the approaching feast days, families had packed their donkeys and set out, most of them in high spirits as they traveled toward Jerusalem. Passover was a time of rejoicing, yet neither Jude nor I felt happy about our reason for the trip.
Every time I saw a familiar sight on the road, memories of other journeys to Jerusalem passed through me like an unwelcome chill. If Yeshua had not come to the wedding in Cana, Thomas would be walking with me now, the two of us taking yet another trip to the Holy City. Abba would ride in the wagon, due to his age, while Thomas and I walked together, sharing memories and laughing at the joyous Passovers of our childhood. We would stay with a distant cousin in the Holy City, the home where we had eaten countless Passover meals in previous years, and Thomas would tease me about Amos, the young cousin who never failed to stare at me as if I were as beautiful as Esther. After the festival, all the way home, Thomas would tease me about marrying Amos, and I would reply that if he did not stop teasing, I would go back to Jerusalem and look for my cousin. “Then you will see,” I would say. “You will miss me when I am gone!” Thomas would laugh, because we both knew I would never leave him, as we were too closely bound together . . .
Now Thomas was gone, and I was not laughing.
Even though we were among scores of families on the road, we might have been one of the more somber groups. Jude walked in front, leading the donkey, while Joanna and I walked on opposite sides of the beast, sharing responsibility for the boy on its back.
We were about ten furlongs out of Capernaum when Jude turned and caught my eye. “Don’t say anything, but we have picked up an acquaintance. He has been following us since we left Capernaum.”
Joanna glanced at us. “What acquaintance?”
“You know him, too,” Jude said, keeping his eyes on the road. “We met him first in Tiberias.”
I turned, pretending to look at the scenery but glancing at the travelers behind us. My stomach tightened when I spotted the one-eyed man we had seen outside the palace—the eunuch who worked for Herodias. He was walking behind a family and their wagon, yet he kept veering to the side of the road to keep an eye on us.
“The eunuch,” I reminded Joanna. “The man who was spying on us.”
Annoyance struggled with fear on her fine-boned features. “Why would he follow us? I thought he would grow weary of watching us in Tiberias.”
I shrugged. “He must have nothing better to do.”
“Or he has heard we are acquainted with John the Immerser,” Jude said. “I tried to warn Yeshua that John would attract trouble. If someone is following us, you can be sure others are following Yeshua. The authorities do not like men who could agitate a crowd.”
“What should we do?” I scanned the road ahead. “Maybe we could join a larger company. We could disguise ourselves or buy different clothing—”
“We have another choice,” Jude said. “Instead of heading east to Scythopolis and the Jordan, we will take the route that goes through Samaria and Lebonah. Near Mount Gilboa we will stop and appear to make plans to stay at an inn, and then we will leave under cover of darkness. The next morning he will assume we have taken the road that avoids Samaria, so he will travel east.”
I nodded, agreeing with his logic. The Jews and Samaritans had a history of bad blood, and few Jews willingly traveled through Samaritan territory even though the route was a more direct path to Jerusalem.
“We may arrive at Jerusalem before Thomas and Yeshua.” I smiled at the thought. “My brother will be surprised to find me waiting for him.”
“My brother, too,” Jude said, though he did not smile when he said it.
We did exactly as Jude said. The one-eyed eunuch, apparently traveling alone, remained a consistent distance behind us as we passed by Taricheae, Dabaritta, and Nain. So as the sun lowered in the west, we stopped at an inn near Mount Gilboa. We went inside and ordered food, fed the baby, and unsaddled the donkey. The eunuch disappeared—probably, Jude said, to find an out-of-the-way place to sleep—and once Gilboa appeared silver under the moon, we retrieved the donkey and slipped away from the inn.
Fortunately, the road to Jerusalem was paved, thanks to the Romans, and clearly visible in the moonlight. Tension fueled our footsteps, helping us make good time despite our weariness. Jude had fashioned a bed from our blankets and strapped it on the pack saddle. The boy slept most of the way, helping us in our effort to be quick and quiet.
We passed the point where most Jews turned east for Scythopolis and continued on to the ancient city at the heart of Samaria. When dawn crept up in streaks and splashes over Mount Ebal, we stopped at a stream to refill our water pitchers, then spread blankets on the ground and str
etched out for a rest.
A few hours later, the boy’s crying woke us. I sat up and looked at the road, where I saw only two Roman wagons and a farmer leading a pair of yoked oxen. I nudged Jude. “We no longer have a one-eyed follower.”
“Your plan worked,” Joanna said, pulling the boy into her arms. “Thanks be to Adonai for giving you a quick mind.”
Jude said nothing but rested his arms on his bent knees and studied the western horizon.
After we had broken our fast and watered the donkey, we took to the road again.
An hour passed when I realized the brief rest had done little to replenish our strength. The boy slept slack-jawed on the donkey, and Joanna appeared to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Even Jude seemed to be dragging his feet.
I was about to suggest that we find a place to rest again when Jude said, “Sychar is just ahead. It’s a Samaritan city, but I think we can find an inn. I would rather get proper sleep than collapse on the road.”
“Good.” Exhaustion cracked Joanna’s voice. “I am spent.”
We found an inn just outside the city, and the Samaritan hostess greeted us with a smile—an unusual approach, I thought, to greeting a trio of Jews.
“We have space for you.” She opened the door wide. “You are most welcome to spend the day and night.”
Jude pulled his purse from his belt. “I can pay.”
The woman held up her hand. “I couldn’t charge you tonight. No one in Sychar would charge you tonight.”
Surprise blossomed on Joanna’s face. “Why?”
The woman’s smile broadened. “Because Yeshua was here. He met Photini by Jacob’s well and spoke to her. He told her such amazing things that she came into town and told us we had to hear him ourselves. We all went out to the well, and after hearing him we begged him to stay with us. He stayed two days, and none of us will ever be the same.” She tipped her head back and sent a stream of infectious laughter rippling through the air. “After hearing what Yeshua had to say, I have faith in the future. I have faith”—she took my hand—“that Jews and Samaritans can be united under God.”