by Wendy Lawton
“Yes, but she has always come. It doesn’t take faith.”
“Your father feels the same vay about God. John Bunyan has learned that God is alvays faithful. I vatch this John Bunyan. I know.”
“So, Daj,” a man’s voice, filled with teasing laughter, startled Mary. “If you have watched Mary’s father and you know about faith, are you telling me that you have put your faith in John Bunyan’s God?”
“Uncle Timoz!” Sofia jumped up and left Mary’s side.
“Timoz,” I Puri Daj said with mock disgust, “is a bad son who should not listen to vomen’s conversations.”
“The boys have found your brother.” He put his hand on Mary’s shoulder. “I did not think you would mind if he stayed for a time with the bear. They will bring him to us later.”
“Thank you, sir.” Mary felt relieved. “Was he with … anyone when you found him?”
“No. He wanders the fair, following the dancing bear.”
Mary wondered about that loose shoe leather she had heard behind Gifre. Was she wrong? Had Jake been with Gifre and left? She decided not to even voice her fears to Jake.
“Uncle Timoz, is it a shame to be Christ-killers?” Sofia blurted the question. Mary could tell it had been bothering her ever since Gifre hurled the ugly curse at her.
“Vhere did you hear that, Chey?” her grandmother asked softly.
“The boy who used his peashooter to shoot gravel at Mary, he said Rom are Christ-killers.” Her voice was sad. “It is not the first time someone has said this to me.”
“Why would he say that, sir?” Mary was puzzled. “Christ was crucified hundreds of years ago by the Romans at the urging of religious leaders of the day. My father says so.”
“You are right, Mary, but superstition has long held my people responsible.” Timoz sighed.
“Is it true?” Sofia asked.
“Yes and no.” Timoz pulled something up to their circle and sat down. Sofia moved over next to him. “Tell them the legend, Daj.”
“Alvays haf our people been tinkers,” she began, “for as long as ve can remember stories. Vhen Yeshua ben Miriam—”
“That means Jesus, Son of Mary,” interrupted Timoz.
“Yes, yes. Vhen Jesus was alive, the Rom heard about Him and about the miracles He performed. They traveled in their caravans to be near, so that they could see Him and hear vhat He said, alvays trying to keep out of sight.”
“Why did they keep out of sight?” asked Mary.
“Our people have always been outcasts,” Sofia said matter-of-factly.
“The story is told,” Timoz continued, “that when the decision was made to crucify Yeshua—your Jesus—the Roman soldiers bought the nails from a Gypsy tinker.”
“Oh, Uncle Timoz, no!” Sofia had obviously never heard this story before.
“Sofia, it is just legend. Neighbor Bunyan says that it is not in God’s book,” Timoz reassured her.
“That is right.” Mary thought this was an evil story. “My father read to us from the Bible every night and I have never heard this story.”
“Sometimes legends continue because they give people a reason for their hatred,” Timoz said sadly.
“But when I asked you if we were Christ-killers, you said ‘yes and no.’” Sofia was puzzled.
“As soon as I Puri Daj brings us some food,” Timoz said, “we will eat and I will tell you why I answered yes.”
Sofia’s grandmother got up to get them a meal. The smell of bread had been making Mary’s stomach rumble. It must be time for the midday meal. She must soon come up with some kind of plan, for she needed to collect Jake and get home in time to take food to Papa. She was no closer to a plan than she was at the beginning of the day.
I Puri Daj returned and placed a hot, flat cake of bread in Mary’s lap. It was wrapped in a piece of cheesecloth so it wouldn’t burn Mary’s hands. Sofia hummed as she helped her baba serve the meal.
“Here.” Sofia tapped Mary on the ankle. “Right beside your foot is your cider.”
“Thank you.” From the sounds and smells, Mary knew the others had begun to eat, so she bit into her loaf. “Umm, this is good,” she said as soon as her mouth was clear. It had a sweet meaty filling.
“I haf one for your brother, too. He vill be hungry vhen he returns.”
Mary was overcome with their kindness. “I am so lucky that Sofia found me today. You have been so kind.”
“Not luck, Mary,” said Timoz. “Your father prays for you. He is my friend, and I am happy to help his family.”
“Oh, do not say help to Mary.” Sofia laughed and poked Mary in the ribs. “Mary doesn’t like to take help.”
Mary had to smile when Sophia teased. Just hearing her laughter made Mary’s independence seem a little foolish.
I Puri Daj came to Mary’s defense. “Mary Bunyan vorks hard to be able to do things on her own. I, too, vould not vant to take vhat some people call help.”
“Uncle Timoz, will you tell us why you said we are Christ-killers?” Sofia was still worried. Mary could hear it in her voice.
“Sofia, I do not mean that the Rom are responsible for killing Yeshua.” Timoz paused. “We, including Mary, are responsible in a way.”
“Me?” Mary was surprised.
Timoz reached inside his vest and pulled something out. It was a cross made of four hand-forged intersecting nails. It hung from a leather thong. “When I heard Neighbor Bunyan tell the story of Yeshua—”
“My father?” Mary interrupted.
“Yes. I heard him speak. His words were powerful, but even more powerful was the story he told.” Timoz continued, “He told of our sin—that burden that weighs us down. He told of Holy God, who cannot bear to look at sin and the gulf that separates sinful man and Holy God.”
“Gulf? Vhat is this gulf?” I Puri Daj had been listening to Timoz.
“God loves us and wants us to be with Him forever, but we are sinful,” he answered. “Daj, you know all about mahrime.”
“Yes.” The old woman shifted. “Ve are much afraid of being mahrime—unclean. You do not see all the vashing and cleansing I do, Mary Bunyan, to keep this kumpania pure. We call it zuhho—pure. It is not just clean on the outside; zuhho means pure on the inside.”
“And are you able to keep us zuhho?” Timoz waited for an answer that didn’t come. Mary realized this was not a subject that I Puri Daj could freely discuss in front of gadje.
“No matter how hard you work, Daj, we still fight mahrime,” said Timoz. “Our people have found that it is not possible to be zuhho. Mary’s father calls mahrime sinfulness.”
“So, you say that God is zuhho and ve are mahrime?”
“Yes, Daj,” Timoz said. “That is the problem.”
“Hmmm. I understand this gulf you talk about.” I Puri Daj sounded sad. “A zuhho God can never touch mahrime man.”
“So does God do like Rom and stay far away from anything mahrime?” Sofia asked.
“No, that’s the wonderful part,” Timoz said. “God loves us even though we are sinful—mahrime.”
Mary listened carefully. She had heard her father talk about sin many times, but she had never heard it told like this. “My father says a price must be paid for our sin.”
“A price? You mean unless we pay, we can never be with God?” Sofia didn’t understand. “What is the price we must pay?”
“The price for sin is death.” Timoz spoke softly, but Mary could hear the intake of Sofia’s breath as she gasped.
“What does this have to do with killing Christ?” asked Sofia.
“Everything,” Timoz answered. “Because we cannot be good enough on our own, God had to make a way for us to become sinless—to make us zuhho.”
“If we work very hard, can we not become sinless?” Mary was determined to try.
“No, Mary,” said Timoz. “Only one sinless man was ever born on this earth and that was Yeshua.”
“How do you know this, Timoz?” asked I Puri Daj, the skepticism plain in her voic
e.
“The story is told in the Holy Book—the Bible—that Neighbor Bunyan reads to us,” Timoz continued. “God wants us to be with Him forever, so He sent His Son, His perfect, zuhho Son, to become a man and, even worse, to die instead of us.”
“You mean He died for us?” Sofia sounded confused.
“Yes, Sofia. It was our sin that caused His death, not these nails.”
“My sin caused Him to die.” Sofia’s voice paused, as if turning this information over and looking at it from all sides. “I never knew that.”
Timoz handed the cross to Mary. It was heavy in her hand. Was this the reason that her father was willing to go to prison for his faith? It was confusing.
“Uncle Timoz, you sound like a follower of John Bunyan. How can that be? You are Rom.” Sofia sounded more confused than Mary.
“Oh, no, Sofia.” Timoz laughed. “I’m not a follower of John Bunyan. He is my friend and my brother. I am a follower of Yeshua ben Miriam—of Jesus Christ.”
Mary handed the cross back to Timoz.
“This cross I keep to remind me of the burden of sin that was lifted by Yeshua’s sacrifice,” he said.
After a long pause, I Puri Daj sighed deeply. “Vell,” she said thoughtfully, “this is something new for our people. I vill haf to think about this, Timoz.”
She turned toward Mary and took both of Mary’s hands into hers. “Tell me vhat plans you haf hatched this morning, little chicken. Vhat vill put coins in the pocket of Mary Bunyan?”
“I Puri Daj, I have not thought of a single thing!” Tears began to sting Mary’s eyes. She had made a new friend, listened to stories, eaten her fill, enjoyed the gentle love of a grandmother … and completely forgotten her mission. How could she have been so careless?
“Mary Bunyan,” I Puri Daj squeezed her hands, “just tell me vhat you saw today.”
Mary told her about the doves and the animals, about the tradesmen and the fishmongers, about the sounds and smells. Tinkling, tinkling. Why does a tinkling sound keep coming to my mind?
“I almost forgot to tell you the funniest sight of all!” Mary described the couple she and Jake had seen.
“Hmmm,” said I Puri Daj. “Tell me again about his clothes.”
Mary described everything she could remember, right down to the tinkling sound.
“That tinkling sound …” The old woman sounded thoughtful. “Ve need to think about that sound.”
“The tinkling sound?” Mary didn’t see any answer at first, but something was beginning to stir. Could it work? But it is so complicated. If I can—
The old woman clapped her hands, as if to applaud Mary. “Ve vill see, Mary Bunyan, vhat plan you make.”
Mary realized that I Puri Daj understood. The seed of a plan had just been germinated. Now to see if it would grow.
“I must get to work.” Mary jumped off the stool, just as she heard the slap of Jake’s loose sole.
“I’m back,” said that familiar voice. “Did you have fun, Mary?” He didn’t even stop to get an answer. “I saw the bear dance, an’ I got to feed him a honeycomb, an’ then—”
“Jake, you little beast!”
“Aw, Mary, I’m sorry.”
“He is back and no harm done,” Timoz whispered in Mary’s ear.
Timoz was right. Besides, she had much to accomplish and she would need Jake’s help.
“Thank you, Sofia. Thank you, Timoz. Thank you, I Puri Daj. I am so glad I have found friends.” Mary felt a faint tingle of hope. Now, if she could just make the plan work somehow.
“Come, Jake. Let’s go home. We have work to do.”
Putting the Pieces in Place
Elizabeth, you are up!” Mary heard her stepmother bustling around the cottage.
“Aye. You didn’t expect me to continue to lie abed for weeks?” She teasingly pulled on one of Mary’s curls. “Where were you yesterday? I feared we would have to hold the service without you.”
“Well … there were so many errands to do, it took most of the day.” Mary was uncomfortable. She did not want to lie to Elizabeth, but she wasn’t ready to let her and Bets in on the plan, either. It was still too early. Why get their hopes up?
“Mary?”
“What?”
“I asked you—what errands?” An edge of impatience was beginning to creep into Elizabeth’s voice.
“You know I took Papa’s dinner, and before that—”
“Elizabeth, are you going out?” Bets walked into the room. “You look so pretty.”
Never had Mary been so grateful for an interruption.
“Aye,” answered Elizabeth. “I plan to travel to London sometime after the first of next year.”
“To London? But that is three days by coach!” said Bets.
“How well I know.” Elizabeth spoke in a bold voice, but Mary heard the uncertainty behind it. “I must see Judge Sir Matthew Hale to obtain a pardon for your father. They say Sir Matthew is sympathetic to dissenters. If that does not serve, there will be nothing left but to plead before the assizes in Bedford.”
“Oh, Elizabeth.” It sounded overwhelming to Mary.
“Today, I will meet again with the Clerk of Peace, Paul Cobb, to see how I can arrange all this.”
“Are you well enough to go?” asked Bets.
“I think so. Anyway, there is no help for it. I will not see your father stay in prison one day longer than he must,” answered Elizabeth.
Guilt weighed on Mary for deceiving Elizabeth, but Mary was more determined than ever to work out the plan. Not only did they need money for food and to pay taxes on the cottage, but they also had Papa’s keep in jail. And now they would need money for Elizabeth to travel! I cannot lose any time putting this plan together.
Elizabeth hurriedly gave instructions to the sisters. They were to care for baby Thomas, watch Jake, sweep the floors, air out the cottage, fix the meal, and take dinner to Papa.
“Give John my love.” Elizabeth was still giving orders as she walked out the door. “Tell him I will visit him tomorrow and that I am well.”
“We will, Elizabeth.” Mary shut the door behind her, letting out her pent-up breath.
“There is much to be done,” Bets said.
“I cannot help you today.” Mary knew she had no time to argue with Bets.
“What do you mean?” Bets sounded puzzled. “You heard Elizabeth give us instructions.”
“I know, but I must work on the plan.” Mary paused. “I’m taking Jake with me.”
“I see,” Bets said. “Tell me what you worked out and how I can help.”
“You can help by doing both of our tasks here at home.”
“I will be happy to do that. Now … tell me the plan.”
“Not yet, Bets,” said Mary. “I want to settle the particulars first.”
“Mary!” said Bets in an exasperated tone. “Tell me! I hate it when you keep secrets.”
“I cannot bear to raise your hopes until I have all the parts in place. I am not trying to be secretive.”
“Oh, yes, you are—you are hiding everything from me.” Bets’s voice rose. “You make me ever so angry, Mary.” Her voice moved away. “Keep your blasted plan to yourself. Keep your worries to yourself. Why, you can even keep your self to yourself!”
“I will return in time to take Papa’s soup.” Mary suppressed a sigh. There was no time to argue.
“Where we going, Mary? Back to see the dancing bear?” Jake buzzed with energy.
“No, the tannery.” Mary was still unhappy about her fight with Bets.
“The tannery?”
“Aye. ’Tis over on Queenshead Lane, next to the lime kilns.”
“Why are we going there?” Jake was puzzled.
“Jake, will you stop asking questions and take me there?”
“Awright.” Jake’s voice betrayed his disappointment.
The journey along Mill Lane was becoming familiar to Mary. They turned up High Road, passed Bedford Gaol on their way toward St
. Peters, then turned left at Queenshead Lane. Mary smelled the rancid odor of the tannery on the right side of the road. Luckily, the tanning pits were well off the road—no danger of stumbling in.
Jake led her to the door and Mary knocked. When the door creaked open, Mary asked to speak to the tanner. She told Jake to wait outside while she went in.
She was not gone overly long. When she came out, a long bag that looked like a mattress ticking without the straw dragged behind.
“What is that, Mary?” Jake asked.
“’Tis a bag for collecting pure. This is going to be your job, Jake. You are to collect pure.”
“Pure? What is pure?”
“Pure is another word for dung,” Mary answered.
“Dung?” Jake sounded like an echo.
“You know what dung is, Jake.”
“Oh, no, Mary!” Jake backed away. “I will not touch that stuff.”
“’Tis dry.” Mary was getting exasperated. “’Twill not hurt you one bit, Master John Bunyan, the Younger.”
“Mary!” Jake was desperate.
“Do you know that we are almost broke?”
“Broke?”
“Aye. Broke. We are nearly out of money. No money for food, no money for Papa’s bill at jail, no money for anything!” Mary was tired of having to fight her whole family. “Papa asked me to take care of everyone—”
“Elizabeth takes care of the family.” Jake’s voice held a stubborn tone.
“I know, but—”
“You are just being bossy, Mary.”
“Jake!” Mary’s throat tightened. “Jake, I cannot do this by myself. I need your help.”
“You need my help?” echoed Jake, the stubbornness fading from his voice. He was quiet for a time. “Awright, Mary. I will help.” He took the bag and they started out.
“The tanner said that hen, pigeon, and goose turds are the best, but dog dung will work as well,” Mary said. They worked their way down along the banks of the Ouse, under the Swan Bridge, where goose pure was abundant.
“’Tis foul. It smells loathsome and sticks to my hands. You said ’twas dry. I cannot believe I have a full sack of manure,” Jake said. “What are you planning to do with this?”
“I will not do anything with it.” Mary laughed. “We take it to the tanner. They make an infusion of pure and water for baiting of the hides.”