The Well Read online

  Mara sucked in her breath. She steadied the jar on her head. She and Rivkah had been childhood friends before Adah, Rivkah’s mother, had married Shimon and turned her back on Nava. Like all little girls, Mara and Rivkah had spent their days talking about their betrothal ceremonies, dreaming of husbands and families. A husband meant security and protection and, most of all, children—the ultimate sign of God’s favor. They had always assumed that Mara would be the first to marry, but Rivkah, more than a year younger, was betrothed first.

  “You are blessed,” Mara said. She heard the tremble in her voice. “Jebus will be a good husband.”

  “Yes, he will. He begged for the betrothal to be shortened. You know how men are.” Rivkah smirked. “But it will be a full year. My father insisted.”

  Mara looked down at her bare feet and ragged tunic. Yes, I do know how men are. She stepped around Rivkah and hurried toward the road.

  As Leah fell into step beside her, Mara slowed but didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

  The path forked—one way went to the village, the other to the valley. This was where they would part. Leah patted Mara’s arm with her gnarled hand. “Your time will come, my dear.”

  Mara shook her head and swallowed hard. No, her time would not come. They all knew that. She nodded good-bye to the old woman.

  The path blurred under Mara’s feet, and the heavy water jar pressed down on her head. She should be mourning Dara—although she barely knew her—but she mourned for herself instead.

  Rivkah was betrothed. And to one of the last unmarried men in Sychar. She couldn’t even hope for a young, handsome husband like Jebus. Not anymore. Rivkah would be married in one year and probably with child soon after. I’ll still be struggling to feed Mama and Asher. No one will marry me.

  Today Rivkah’s childhood dreams would come true. Her father and brothers would carry her in a litter to the house of her handsome groom. Her sisters and friends would scatter nuts and dance to the music of harps and tambourines. And Mara wasn’t even invited.

  I’d be content with any husband who treated me kindly and put food on the table. Anyone who provided clothes and a roof that didn’t leak. Anyone who would take care of me and Asher.

  No, there would be no betrothal for her. No man would make a marriage offer for Mara, daughter of Nava, the most disgraceful woman in Sychar.

  • • •

  “Mama, you can’t let him come here again. You know that, don’t you?”

  Nava didn’t answer. Mara knelt next to her mother’s huddled body, hoping that she would listen to reason, but Nava just pulled her cloak closer around her shoulders and turned her face to the wall.

  “Mama, if they find out . . . what will we do?” Mara’s voice rose.

  “What’s the matter, Mara?” Asher piped up from the corner. “Mara, what is it?” He crawled to Mara and climbed into her arms. He was small for his age and too thin, but she had never seen a more beautiful child in all of Sychar. His almond-shaped eyes were deep green. Long, dark lashes brushed his high smooth cheeks. Asher snuggled up to her, and she pressed her cheek to his dark curls. She kissed the top of his head and breathed in his musty sweet scent.

  Yes, Asher was a beautiful child. But he had been born lame. Not just lame—deformed. And in Sychar, deformity meant sin. Nava’s sin.

  He was in all other ways a perfect boy, but one leg, knotted and bent, hardly looked like a leg at all. The heel of his foot pointed sharply outward, like a misplaced elbow. The foot twisted so that the pink sole faced upward, and his deformed toes closed like a fist. But Asher’s heart . . . his heart was as pure and sweet as the water from Jacob’s well.

  Mara pulled his thumb from his mouth. “Asher, no. You’re almost eight.”

  Nava pushed herself up from her mat. “Let him be.” She folded her legs and patted her lap. “Come sit on Mama’s lap.”

  Mara pushed Asher into his mother’s lap. “Stop treating him like a baby.”

  He snuggled up to his mother and stuck his thumb back in his mouth.

  Nava didn’t rebuke him. She pulled him closer and stroked his arm.

  Even with dirty hair and a sleep-lined face, Nava was lovely. Her honey-toned skin was only slightly lined from thirty summers. Her teeth flashed white and straight behind dark, full lips. Long, black lashes and straight, black brows highlighted her perfect features. Even now, when other women showed signs of age, Nava’s skin stretched smoothly over high cheeks, and her chin was a firm, straight line.

  Mara dipped a worn wooden ladle into the water jug and gave it to Nava. She had heard the same words her whole life: she was the image of her mother. Except for their eyes. While Nava’s wide eyes were as green as Egyptian jade, Mara’s were a startling mix of green shot with gold. No one had ever said they were beautiful.

  Nava drank, then passed the ladle to Asher. “My poor baby boy. Why must God punish you for the sins of your mother?”

  Blood rose in Mara’s face. “Mama, you act as though you have no choice.” Mara carried the heavy jar to the coolest corner of the house. “I didn’t see you asking Alexandros to leave last night.”

  Even as Nava buried her face in Asher’s skinny neck and wept, Mara didn’t regret her words. Why couldn’t she see the danger?

  “Alexandros?” Asher said, looking from his sister to his mother. He puffed out his cheeks and lowered his brows, very much like the big pagan. “I don’t like him.”

  “I don’t either,” Mara agreed. She gathered her damp cloak from the floor and shook it hard. If only she could shake some sense into her mother.

  Asher squirmed in his mother’s arms; she was still crying. Mara loosened Nava’s grip on Asher and dragged him from her. “Mama is a little sad, Asher. Go outside and gather sticks. We’ll make some breakfast.” She sent him on his way with a forced smile and a little swat on his bottom. He crawled quickly through the door, dragging his lame leg behind him.

  She crouched beside her weeping mother. “Mama, you can’t let him come here again.”

  “It is for Asher. He needs a father.”

  I don’t believe it. She isn’t making any sense. “Asher has a father. Or did you forget about Shaul? You know, your husband?” She took a breath and tried to speak calmly. “Mama, Alexandros doesn’t want to be Asher’s father. He’s not going to marry you.”

  Nava wiped tears from her cheeks. “At his age, Asher should be learning a trade, not playing with toys. He needs a man to teach him.”

  “Yes. Shaul is the one who should teach him. If you would just . . .” If she would just get up in the morning and work hard all day. If she would just take care of her children. Then she could send word to Shaul—beg him to come back. They could be happy again.

  But Mara couldn’t say that. They never spoke of her mother’s illness.

  Nava lay down and turned her back on the room. She pulled her cloak over her head like a shroud, as though she intended to sleep forever.

  Mara blew out her breath in frustration. Nava would not get up again today. Sleeping seemed to be her only refuge from the dark thoughts and sadness that bound her. Lord, why do we have a mother who is not a mother at all? If she is the one who is sinful, why must Asher and I suffer?

  Mara left the gloom of the house and crouched by the cooking pot. The two looming mountains seemed to press down on her. Would she ever reap the blessings of following God’s laws, or would she only see the curses that were sown by her disgraceful mother?

  Chapter 2

  Have you been given much food lately?” Leah asked.

  Mara lifted one shoulder. “We have enough.”

  She and Leah sat near the cooking fire. Asher played under the tall cypress trees that stood guard around the house like Roman soldiers. A cool breeze lifted the damp clothes that lay drying on the bushes.

  “Don’t lie to me, my girl,” the old woman croaked. “These people,” she motioned toward the village, “they don’t abide by the laws they claim so dearly.” Leah’s withered face dippe
d close to Mara. “Charity is often their worn-out sandals and rancid oil, I’d guess.”

  Mara pounded the barley one last time. Taking charity, especially from some, galled her, but without it they would starve. She would beg for food if she must—not for herself—but for Asher and her mother. “The garden is coming along. And Passover is near. People are always generous after Passover.”

  She didn’t want to talk about food. There was something even more important on her mind. “What can I do to help her, Leah?” Mara nodded toward the house where Nava slept through the days and nights.

  Leah took a packet of herbs from her belt and poured them into a small pot. She ladled hot water from the cooking fire. “This may help a bit when she wakes up.”

  The scents of mint and bitter rue drifted over to Mara. But the soothing drink would not help her mother. She needed something stronger.

  Mara poured another measure of barley onto the flat stone. The hard kernels cracked and popped under the heavy grindstone. She leaned into her work. How could she ask Leah about the demon? Even thinking of it made her skin prickle. Please, Lord. Forgive me.

  “What is wrong with her, Leah? Could it be . . .” She felt as if a huge hand were squeezing her chest. “I just want her to be happy again, like before . . .” Before Asher was born.

  “What do you mean?” Leah lowered her voice, although not even Asher could hear them.

  “I mean . . . I’ve heard some of the women talking.” She sat up straighter. She’d just have to say it. “They say that it’s an evil spirit.” She swallowed. “That it comes in the night, sapping her strength and leaving her weak. Do you believe that, Leah?”

  Leah pursed her lips. She didn’t look shocked or outraged. “I don’t know.” She gazed toward the trees where Asher played. “Many women are like this after the birth of a child. Especially a difficult birth like your brother’s. It can last for months. But with Nava, who can explain it? It’s been years now. She is not always ill. She eats. She is sometimes well. Then she will lie in bed for days or weeks, leaving her children to care for themselves, pushing her husband away . . .”

  Mara scooped the ground barley into the cooking pot. Could an evil spirit live inside her mother—in their house—lurking close to Asher while he slept? If only Nava could be like before. When she sang and smiled. When Shaul was here. She ladled water over the barley and stirred in a palmful of spicy cumin and a pinch of salt.

  Leah scooted closer. “You could check for a demon, but the priests disapprove . . .”

  She stopped the spoon mid-stir. “I don’t know what else to do. Please, Leah.” Anything is better than wondering.

  “There is a way to find out. Then . . . at least you’d know for sure.” Leah bit her lip and looked around the empty valley.

  “I won’t tell anyone, Leah. I promise.” She pushed the cooking pot over the hot coals. “Please. Tell me what to do.”

  • • •

  Darkness fell quickly in the little valley. In the bright light of day, talk of an evil spirit had seemed almost foolish. Now, as the night wrapped around the lonely house, the sputtering oil lamp cast shadows that made Mara’s blood pound in her ears and her hands tremble.

  Mara checked that her mother and Asher were asleep, then carefully scooped the warm ashes from the cooking fire and sprinkled them thickly over the doorstep and into the house.

  It would leave claw prints—like a rooster—in the ashes. So Leah had said.

  Mara snuffed the lamp and lay down on her thin pallet, wiggling close to Asher. She had laid their sleeping mats close together but as far as they could be from her mother’s corner. She lay with her eyes wide open. The moon’s light seldom brightened their deep valley, but tonight the blackness weighed on her like a burden of stones.

  How big was a demon? She imagined that it would move like a shadow with scaly, claw-like feet and a long sinewy body. She listened for scratching, a hiss, any sign that a sinister creature prowled inside the house. Close by, she heard her brother’s gentle breathing and the goats shifting in the lean-to next to the house. The shrieks of the night birds and the clamor of insects usually comforted her, but tonight they seemed to be warning her of danger.

  She scooted closer to Asher. She’d heard the priests say it. She repeated it every night. This night, she breathed it over and over. Watch over your people, oh Lord.

  • • •

  Mara opened her eyes just to squeeze them closed again. Her mind was full of fearful dreams: giant birds with the heads of snakes flying away with Asher in their sharp talons, village boys chasing them with mattocks and rakes, she and Asher wandering alone in the mountains.

  Her heart sped up. Were sharp-clawed footprints scratched in the ashes?

  What will I do if the marks are there? What do I do if they are not?

  Mara said her morning prayers lying on her back beside Asher, his breath warm on her cheek. Then she rolled off the mat, careful not to wake him. She passed her mother, who was huddled in a ball, as she tiptoed to the door.

  The ashes lay smooth and undisturbed, not a mark or scratch to show that something had breached the doorway. She sank to the floor on weak legs. Of course no evil spirit defiled their home. But if not an evil spirit, then what?

  She had asked Leah what to do if the prints had marred the ashes. “Some wear an amulet—a locust egg or fox tooth,” Leah had answered.

  Mara shook her head. “Charms from a soothsayer? We would surely be thrown out of town if anyone found out.”

  Leah nodded her head. “Yes. Trust in the Lord. Go to the mountain, and ask the Lord to send an angel to fight and vanquish the spirit.”

  She would go to Mount Gerizim and pray. There was nothing more for her to do. Only a miracle would heal her mother.

  Mara took a fistful of ragged straw and swept the ashes from the doorway. Then she stood for a long moment, watching as the sky turned pink over Mount Ebal. The day’s work called. She stoked the fire, then milked the wiry-haired goats while the wood burned down to glowing coals. She tipped the grain jar to get every kernel of barley and pounded it fiercely until the faint breeze blew fine puffs of barley flour into the air. Leah was right. They hadn’t been given much food for several weeks. But the garden was growing well, the goats were healthy, and she had plenty of wool to card and spin. Aunt Ruth would give her barley and oil in exchange for her fine yarn, and after Passover they would get plenty of charity from their pious neighbors—enough for several months if they were careful.

  Mara leaned back on her heels. The morning chores were done, except one. The jug was almost empty again. She would need enough water for today and tomorrow. She stood and stretched her cramped shoulders, looking to the west at the path that wound through the valley. How many times had she wished to see Shaul walking from Sebaste, coming home to them? She shook her head. It was up to her now to keep her family fed.

  She stepped through the doorway. Asher was already folding her cloak and rolling their sleeping mats. “Take good care of Mama while I’m gone,” she said.

  “I will, Mara!” He waved to her.

  She started east, up the hill. The two mountains rose on each side of the path, a testament to the Samaritans of Sychar. Mara knew the story as well as she knew her morning prayers, as well as she knew the outline of Mount Gerizim against the sky.

  She’d heard the story all her life, how not long after the twelve tribes of Israel had entered the Promised Land, they began to struggle for power. The high priest was frightened that the Ark of the Covenant—the dwelling place of the Word of the Lord—would be stolen. He hid the Ark there, in a cave on Mount Gerizim.

  Her people, who had lived for centuries near the Holy Mountain, said that the cave disappeared and the Ark was never seen again. It would remain in the mountain until the coming of the Taheb, the Restorer. But the southern kingdom of Israel said that Jerusalem held the Ark and was the only true place for worship and sacrifice to God. The people were divided and would stay that way
until the Taheb came and showed them the true place to worship—Jerusalem or Mount Gerizim.

  Generations lived and died in the land that God had given them. In the north, evil queens brought the people the goddess Astarte and built altars to Baal. Some Samaritans embraced the new gods, rejecting the One who had brought them out of slavery in Egypt.

  But her people, the people of Sychar, stayed faithful to Yahweh. They built an altar on the slopes of Gerizim, and the village of Sychar grew on Mount Ebal. It remained a town of strict faithfulness to the God of Abraham, practicing a faith as ancient as when Moses first set his eyes on the Promised Land.

  Mara hurried along the path. To the south, the crest of the Holy Mountain of Gerizim caught the morning sun. The white stone synagogue lay in the shadows halfway up its steep side. To the north, clay houses—all larger than hers—were scattered on the slopes of Mount Ebal. The marketplace on the lowest slopes already bustled with merchants and shepherds leading animals to water. Without the life-giving water of Jacob’s well, Sychar would be just another empty valley in Samaria.

  She reached the wide road called the Patriarch’s Highway, watching the ground and thinking of the day ahead. She needed to repair that roof before another rain came. Perhaps Uncle Uziel would help her.

  Thoughts of roof repair fled as she raised her eyes from the road. Her heart jumped to her throat. Three tall, burly boys idled at the side of the wide road. They shoved each other as she came closer.

  “Nava’s daughter.”

  “Here she comes.”

  She slowed her steps. These boys were far worse than their mothers, but she would not cower to them. She lifted her head, squared her shoulders, and whispered a small prayer. Help me, please.

  The boys circled like jackals before a kill. They were almost as old as Mara, old enough to be working with their fathers instead of looking for trouble. They had probably been loitering close to the Patriarch’s Highway, lying in wait for traveling Jews to harass. They got her instead.