The Well Page 10

  The servant took the cup from Tirzah and bent to lift the jar.

  Ruth stopped her with an upraised hand. “Wait. Tirzah, will you not offer water to my sister and her children?”

  No, Ruth. They are petty women. Let it go. Mara caught Ruth’s eye and shook her head. But Ruth’s mouth was set and her cheeks flushed red.

  Tirzah clasped her hands together in front of her chest. She leaned toward Nava, but her voice rose like a braying donkey. “Oh, I would. You know that, Nava. I certainly don’t hold anything against you.” She fluttered her hand to where her husband sat. “But Zevulun . . . I’m sure you understand. He would have us break the cup and the water jar, too. Men are so careful about impurity.” Her harsh laugh echoed through the silence.

  Nava gasped.

  Mara’s mouth went dry. She scanned the surrounding tents. Every face was turned toward them. Zevulun’s mouth curled into a satisfied smirk. Under the cedars, Abahu, Shem—even Noach and Enosh—were watching.

  Ruth struggled to rise with Matea still in her lap. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Her cheeks were flaming red, and she pulled a deep breath through her nose. Mara had never seen her placid aunt so angry. She must stop Ruth before she shamed her own family for Nava’s sake.

  But she couldn’t move. Her arms hung like slabs of cold stone. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  Nava dropped Mara’s hand and scooted Asher into her lap. Nava reached for her sister’s shoulders and gently pulled her back down. Nava’s face was calm, her chin raised. Every ear waited for her next words.

  Please, Mama. Don’t make it worse for us.

  Nava squared her shoulders and leaned forward. “Tirzah, what you say is true.” Her words struck like a hammer on a tent stake.

  Tirzah’s brows rose, making furrows on her fleshy forehead.

  Nava continued. “Men can be unforgiving. Perhaps your husband will never forgive my rejection of him.”

  Zevulun watched with an open mouth. Abahu and Shem stared. Enosh stood as if to come toward them, but his father’s hand on his arm stopped him.

  Nava went on. “But I’d rather be hated by Zevulun and everyone in Sychar than share his bed.”

  Tirzah’s chin disappeared into the heavy folds of her neck. Her pink lips dropped open.

  Mara pulled Asher close like a shield. Her heart swelled with pride and fear. Nava wasn’t afraid of these women. But how much harm would she cause, now that she’d found her voice?

  Nava raised her hand toward the queen of the village women. “And you too have good reason to hate me. But I can’t help it if your husband still thinks of me before he lies down beside you every night.”

  Ruth’s hand flew to her mouth. Mara choked, and her heart dropped like a stone. Every face in the clearing turned to Zevulun. His neck was purple, and his face burned red.

  Tirzah lunged at Nava. Her hand snaked out, cracking across Nava’s cheek.

  Nava didn’t flinch, and she didn’t cower.

  Mara curled herself around Asher. All was lost. Their beautiful, brave, foolish mother had sealed their fate. She had humiliated the most powerful man in the village on the holiest feast of the year. Pride and despair warred within Mara. Mama is so brave. She is so foolish.

  Nava pushed herself to her feet. The mark of Tirzah’s hand burned bright on her pale cheek. She ran her hand over Mara’s hair, then bent to kiss Asher on the cheek. Before Mara could find her voice, Nava stood tall, adjusted her robes, and walked down the mountain, her head held high.

  There would be no more charity from the village now, and certainly not from Tirzah. They would be lucky not to be driven out of town. Mara would have to marry Jobab, and soon. They had no other hope.

  Chapter 11

  Shame needled through Shem as he watched Mara tend her garden. He stood in the shadows of the east grove, looking down on the little house. A pruning hook dangled from his idle hands. A hot wind from the eastern desert rustled through the olive grove and spun fingers of dust in the valley.

  What am I doing here? I have enough worries, serious ones like being hunted by Romans. He didn’t need to spy on a girl with eyes like jade and amber.

  Massot had ended, and the week on the mountain with the men of the village had surprised him. The men of Sychar, at least some of them, were not just dim-witted farmers. They were no scholars, but their faith was real and alive. In fact, some of what they said made more sense than the complex philosophies he had learned at the feet of his teachers in Caesarea. These men, farmers and merchants, had true faith in the God of Abraham. They had prayed, sung, and spoken of many things. But none had spoken of Nava.

  Nava’s display at Passover had shocked him. Insulting Zevulun’s wife—that he could understand. But how could she have so little regard for her children? From what he could tell, they depended on the village for their food. Mara’s reaction still made his heart constrict. She had watched her mother go down the mountain, her face drained of all color. She must have been so ashamed.

  Nava could not be driven from town only because she had insulted Zevulun’s wife, and they didn’t seem to have any proof of adultery. But the family could be starved out. Were Mara and her brother hungry right now?

  A pang of guilt brought him out of his thoughts. He turned away from the little house and hiked through the trees. He would talk to Mechola about taking food and oil to Mara. He’d buy it himself. And then I’ll try to forget about her.

  As he cut through the grove, he passed the ancient oil press and toolshed. Low voices rumbled from inside the shed. Shem froze. Abahu and Enosh were far away in the east grove today. Was someone stealing his grandfather’s hoes and mattocks? He crept around the shed to the small, high window and stretched to peak in. He glimpsed not a band of thieves but a stranger by the door and a rotund figure with his back to Shem. Zevulun’s fine robes and thinning hair were easy to recognize. The stranger, heavy and brutish, was bald with a scarred face covered in dark stubble. His dirty clothes and sandals marked him as a Greek.

  Shem’s heart sped up. He ducked down and pressed his back to the cold stone wall. What is going on here?

  “What took you so long to report to me?” Zevulun’s voice rasped low and furtive.

  “I didn’t want to interrupt your sacred feast,” the stranger said. The big man’s voice was like a bleating goat.

  “Tell me what you’ve learned, before someone finds us here,” Zevulun growled.

  “You told me not to come into the village,” the man said. “I checked the grove; there’s no one here.”

  “Just get on with it.”

  “I’ve found the man you want,” the stranger said. “I’ll be happy to tell you the rest. After you pay me.”

  Zevulun’s voice rose. “You! Nothing better than a common criminal, yet you imply that I cannot be trusted?” A muffled jangle and thump followed. Shem risked another glance through the window. The man picked up a bulging coin pouch and weighed it in his hands before tucking it into his belt.

  “The carpenter called Shaul does still live in Sebaste,” he said. “He works hard, but with little real talent, for the builders of the new temple to Zeus. Most often with wood but also with the stone masons when he is needed.”

  “Yes, yes.” Zevulun’s heavy robes rustled. “But is he married?”

  “I am coming to that.” The coins jingled again. “He lives alone. A few questions led me to a wine shop that he sometimes visits. I waited there and soon fell to talking with this man that you are so interested in.”

  Zevulun grunted.

  Shem almost smiled thinking of how irritated Zevulun must be at the man’s disrespect. But where was this information leading? What kind of trouble was Zevulun stirring up?

  “Seems that he left his wife and children in another town while he found work at the temple. After a few cups of wine, at your expense, he told me that his wife was very beautiful—the most beautiful woman in all of Samaria.”

  Shem froze. Could it be
Nava? But if she had a husband in Sebaste, why were they so poor?

  “Almost broke my heart. Said she didn’t love him anymore, he couldn’t live with her, he left. Such a sad tale . . . and a daughter and son as well.” He laughed. “Soon after that, he staggered home to drown his sorrows in another amphora of wine, also purchased by you.”

  “But he didn’t divorce her? No written papers?” Zevulun asked.

  “Couldn’t bear to do it, the coward. Said if he couldn’t have her, no one else would.” The informer chuckled. “It’s been an honor doing business with you, sir. Call on me again if you need further assistance.”

  “Oh, I’ll need you again, and very soon,” Zevulun muttered.

  The shed door creaked. He could make out the informer’s heavy steps, crunching through the dry leaves of the olive grove. He was heading toward the path to Sebaste, away from Shem. But Zevulun would walk around the shed and toward the village. Shem crept around the corner and pressed himself against the farthest wall. The big man rustled past, wheezing his way down the hill. Shem slid to the ground, his heart hammering in the silence of the grove. I have to warn Mara. Zevulun is gathering evidence against her mother.

  • • •

  The harsh sun beat down on Mara’s bent back as she pulled the last of the stubborn weeds from the baked earth around the cucumber vines. A hot wind whipped her hair into her face and stirred dust that dried her mouth and filled her eyes with grit.

  Asher didn’t complain as he worked beside her, but she knew he was hungry. They had run out of barley days ago. Every year at Passover, she found grain and oil, almonds, and dried fish on their doorstep after the feast and, again, after Massot. This year there had been almost nothing. Figs and oil from Leah, another jar of honey, and plenty of turned backs at the well.

  Mara scraped together what she could from the garden, but the gnawing emptiness kept her awake at night. She couldn’t bear to beg Ruth and Uziel. Her uncle was surely disgusted with Nava, and she didn’t blame him for it. This would set his mind even more toward her marriage to Jobab. And she couldn’t make Ruth choose between her husband and her sister. She was more alone than she’d ever been.

  The barley harvest will be done soon. Then we can glean enough for several months. A trickle of sweat ran down her nose. The long, cold days of winter would come, and then—unless the villagers forgot her mother’s sins or forgave them—they would starve. Or she would marry, and they would live.

  Lord, have mercy on us. Deliver us from this misery, I beg you.

  Nava had barely risen from her mat since they had come home from the mountain. She didn’t eat; she hardly drank—even as the days turned hot. Her affront to Tirzah had emptied her, like a broken jar drained of water. Why couldn’t Nava have used her burst of passion to help her children instead of sentencing them to death?

  Asher gathered up the last of the weeds in silence. She helped him hobble to the shade of the cedar trees, where he collapsed and closed his eyes. Would he be able to care for himself and Nava when she married Jobab? He’d have to.

  Mara checked the purse at her belt. She knew exactly what it held—their last bronze coin. Barely enough to purchase barley and oil for the next few meals. Should she use it now or save it for winter? Asher was so miserable, but they might need it even more later. Her hollow stomach twisted, hunger battling against panic.

  “Asher, I’m going to get us some food and water.” They would have a good meal tonight, then trust in the Lord. She picked up the empty water jar and hoped no one would be at the well in the heat of the day.

  “Take good care of Mama while I am gone.” Not that Nava would notice or even care. She cared about nothing but her own misery.

  Asher nodded, too hot and hungry to speak.

  Mara started up the path, the jar on her head. The wind had died, but the sun beat relentlessly on her back. Before she reached the top of the hill, a tall shadow broke away from the cover of the olive trees. A man strode down the hill with purpose. Shem. And he seemed to be coming straight toward her.

  She looked at the ground and sped up, her bare feet slapping the hot dirt. He veered to intercept her. She must either step off the path to go around him or stop in front of him.

  He held out his hand, palm facing her. “Mara, please.”

  Mara stopped and lowered the jar from her head. She cast a glance behind him. The path was empty for now. Why is he talking to me? It’s not right. Was he waiting there—hiding in the olive grove? Just like that night. Perhaps he thought she was like her mother. Not respectable.

  Her knees wobbled, and she squeezed the jar closer to her. Disappointment vied with fear. After he’d saved her from Amram and helped her in the olive grove she’d thought he was different from the boys in Sychar—better, somehow. But he wasn’t. He might even be worse. Maybe he was just like Alexandros.

  Shem took one step closer. “Please, I need to talk to you. About Zevulun.”

  Zevulun? She glanced up at his face but quickly dipped her head again. He was too close. She had seen something in his dark eyes. Worry? And what could he have to say to her about Zevulun?

  He leaned toward her, his voice low. “Listen, Mara. I heard him talking to an informer in the olive grove. They spoke of a man named Shaul. Is that Nava’s husband?”

  Mara could smell the olive grove on his wool tunic. She nodded.

  “Did he—Shaul—give your mother a written letter of divorce?”

  A letter of divorce? Mara shook her head. “I don’t know. He said the priest . . .” She stopped. The way he looked at her . . . his eyes searching her face. Like he was watching for lies. And asking about this, her worst memory. She took a gulp of air and a step back. “It was so long ago.”

  Shem’s shoulders dropped, and he rubbed his hand over his face. “Mara, I think Zevulun is planning something. He seems to be gathering evidence against her. Perhaps to accuse your mother of . . . something.”

  The unspoken word hovered in the air between them. Adultery.

  Why does he care what happens to Nava? To us? Shame burned through her and lit her face on fire. What could she say? Nothing. Nava was guilty of adultery.

  Shem’s eyes caught hers in a long look that she didn’t understand. It wasn’t like Alexandros’s leer or Amram’s scorn. Shem was different from the others. Strength came back to her legs; she didn’t need to fear him.

  He swallowed hard. “I just wanted you to know.” He shifted from one foot to another, pivoted, and took three long strides toward the olives. Mara let her breath out but caught it when he jerked toward her again. He hurried back, swinging a bulging pack off his back. He shoved it toward her. She shifted the water jar enough to gather the pack in her arms, then tipped sideways with its weight. “What—”

  As he bent close, his whisper brushed her cheek. “Be careful, Mara. And tell your mother to be careful.”

  • • •

  “Mama. Mama, get up. I need to talk to you.”

  Mara shook her mother’s bony shoulder, rolling her over to face the sun that streamed through the doorway into the little house. The bundle of food that Shem had given her—wheat, oil, even some dried fish—lay discarded beside the door. Food wasn’t her greatest worry anymore.

  Nava’s body felt light and brittle in her hands, like a bird’s wing. Her eyes were open; she hadn’t been asleep. Her gaze was far away, in another lifetime. She blinked at Mara like she didn’t even know her.

  “Listen to me. Zevulun is . . . I think they are trying to accuse you of . . .” She swallowed. “Mama, they are going to accuse you of adultery.”

  Nava’s licked her dry, cracked lips, but she didn’t speak. She rolled back toward the wall, pulling her legs to her chest.

  “Mother!” Mara shook Nava’s shoulder, dragging at her mother’s thin body again. Nava didn’t resist. She was like a dead animal, just muscle and bone with no life within. How could she give up when her children needed her?

  Mara rolled Nava on her back. “
Mama! What are you doing to us? What would you have us do when they drive us away from here? Beg in the streets of Sebaste? Mama, they will stone you!”

  Nava’s voice was as lifeless and limp as her body. “I don’t care what happens to me.”

  “You don’t care? What about us? Do you care what happens to your children?” Pain twisted through Mara’s heart. Lord, help me. Let her see how much we need her.

  “You’ll be better off without me.”

  A shadow cut through the light from the door. Mara glanced over her shoulder. Asher knelt in the doorway, his mouth trembling. She bent close to Nava and shook her. “You are so selfish!” she hissed. “Can’t you see what you are doing to him—to both of us? First you drive away our father, and now we’ll have no mother.”

  Nava wrenched out of Mara’s grasp and buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

  “Crying isn’t going to help, Mama. Not this time.” She stalked to the door and scooped Asher into her arms. His scrawny arms wrapped around her neck. Her legs trembled with his weight and her own anger.

  “Where are we going, Mara?” he asked in a small voice. “To the well? I’m thirsty.”

  The well was the last place she’d go today. The women would be right to stare and gossip. No, she needed to hide. Only one person would help them now. What would Aunt Ruth say? Would Uziel refuse them? She would tell him that she would marry Jobab—without the bride price—on one condition. Asher must live with her. But would Jobab agree? “We’ll go to Aunt Ruth’s; she’ll have water.”

  “But what about Mama? She’s thirsty too.”

  Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them back. “She can get her own water, for once.” Asher stared at her. She didn’t care. Nava would have to take care of herself from now on. Just as she had forced Mara and Asher to take care of themselves. Mara had nothing left to give to her mother. Jobab was their only hope. She took one last look at the woman hunched in the corner.

  She is right. We would be better off if she were dead.

  • • •