The Well Page 8
A twig snapped close by.
Mara held her breath and tried to see through the moon-dappled darkness. She pushed her back hard against the tree trunk, sliding up to a crouch, ready to run. If the wrong kind of man found her—Amram or his friends—she would be in even worse trouble. A cold fear froze her limbs. Had Alexandros seen her leave?
“Who’s there?” A man’s voice called softly.
She saw a tall form come out of the shadows, very close. Close enough that she could hear his breathing. It must be him. Alexandros. He must have seen her leave and followed her. His words echoed in her ears: It is time we got to know each other better.
“Leave me alone,” she whispered. She pushed off from the tree and ran. She didn’t get far. A grasping root caught her foot, sending her sprawling on the ground. The side of her head smacked against a solid trunk. She lay still for a moment, the pain in her head overpowering her fear. A hand closed around her arm.
Mara jerked around, kicking hard at the figure standing over her.
He released her arm with a yelp.
She got up to her knees. Her mantle was off, and her hair was wild around her face and shoulders. “Stay away from me. I mean it!” She looked around for a stick to defend herself, but he stepped close and reached down to her again.
“What are you doing? Are you hurt?”
He moved into a bright patch of moonlight. It wasn’t Alexandros. It was Shem. He took both of her shaking hands in his. She struggled against him.
“Are you insane? To be out here by yourself! Your mother and father . . .” As he pulled her up to her feet, the patch of moonlight fell on her face. He stopped and dropped her hands as though they were hot rocks. His mouth fell open, and the front of his long throat jumped.
She dipped her chin, remembering her humiliation on the road. He had to regret helping her. She had seen by his shocked face that he knew about her . . . about Nava. She tried to raise her head high, to look him in the eye, but she couldn’t do it.
He continued after a moment in a lower voice, “They will be worried about you. I will take you home.”
“No!” Mara croaked. She kept her eyes on the ground. “I mean—no. I’ll go. I’m sorry. I thought you were—I mean, I thought you were someone else.” Humiliated twice in front of him. He must think I’m a fool. She tried to recover her dignity, but everything—Alexandros, Nava, now this—it was too much.
She covered her face with her dirty hands and burst into tears.
Chapter 9
Mechola! You never said that your grandson was so handsome!” The tall, bony woman gushed in his grandmother’s doorway. Shem had seen her before. She was often in the marketplace with her three skinny daughters, bickering over jewelry and linen.
Shem stood silently with a bucket of still-warm goat’s milk. In Caesarea, Drusus had brought breakfast to Shem’s room each morning. Here, he milked the short-tempered goat himself. He didn’t mind. He gave his grandmother the bucket.
With her back to her visitor, she rolled her eyes at him. “You know I try not to brag about my grandchildren, Adah,” she said as she filled a wooden bowl with chunks of fresh melon, then poured on thick yogurt and dark honey before handing it to Shem.
Adah walked farther into the house and resumed her complaints about one of the town merchants. “You know that Canaanite, that one that sells the Nubian beads and bracelets? He said he’d be here yesterday! But he still isn’t here, and I promised my daughter . . .” She looked coyly at Shem.
He shoved melon in his mouth and tried not to listen. Abahu already waited for him in the olive grove.
The woman spoke to Mechola, but her words were clearly for Shem. “I hope your grandson knows that I have three beautiful girls. One is betrothed already. And such good wives they will make . . .” Adah let her comment hang in the air a moment before she resumed her complaints.
Shem chewed and thought about the girl in the olive grove. He had been struck speechless. She was so beautiful, even in the shadowy grove. Her wide eyes were unlike any he’d ever seen. What color were they? Her dark hair had been wild and tangled, framing a perfect face. He had seen beautiful women in Caesarea, but never one like her.
What had she been doing in the grove so late at night? She was afraid of someone, that was certain. She had sobbed for only a moment but hadn’t made another sound as he brought her through the grove.
He had stolen quick glances at her as they walked through the trees. If possible, she was even more beautiful with her face streaked with tears. As they had stepped out of the dark trees into the light of a half moon, he saw that her feet were bare and dirty. A tattered brown tunic and a belt of frayed rope hung on her thin frame. He had seen her before; she was the girl with the water jar.
At the edge of the grove, she spoke to him, almost begging. “Please, let me go on alone. Please.”
Of course he had followed her, telling himself that he just wanted to make sure that she was safe. He watched her run to the small, shabby house in the valley. A large speckled donkey stood outside the door, loaded with bundles, but there had been no light burning for her.
He swallowed the rest of his breakfast. He wanted to ask his grandmother about the girl, but her friend seemed to be ready to talk all day. She must not know that Mechola hated gossip.
As he turned to go, Adah finished her rant about the merchant. “Well, I just hope he shows up today. I won’t hear the end of it. Keep watch for him, will you? He leads a huge speckled donkey loaded with packs.”
Shem’s head shot up. Could it be the same donkey? Did the merchant know her father? He swung around and blurted, “Oh, I saw that donkey. Outside the house in the valley. It was tied there last night.”
Adah turned and stared at him, her mouth pursed in a little circle of surprise. She spoke directly to him, shock prevailing over manners. “What? At Nava’s house? The one outside the village? Just when did you see him?”
Mechola put her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Shem really doesn’t know his way around the village yet, do you, my boy?” She took his arm and led him to the doorway. “I think your grandfather is waiting for you,” she said with a firm push. She shooed him away from the house and turned back to her gleeful visitor.
“At Nava’s house? Oh, she is disgraceful,” Adah’s delighted voice drifted across the courtyard. “I need to go now, Mechola. I have so much to do.”
Shem looked back at the house to see Adah hurrying toward the village, a smile on her face. Mechola stood in the doorway shaking her head, her lips pressed tight in a worried frown.
• • •
Shem tamped the soil around the olive seedling and straightened, rubbing the small of his back. Planting seedlings was hard work. But at least it kept his mind off the girl. He’d only thought of her a hundred times today. He’d made a big mistake, telling Adah that he’d seen the donkey at the girl’s house.
Abahu, Shem, and Enosh worked well together. Enosh, the son of Mechola’s brother, Noach, was thin and angular. He had to be close to seventeen, all long limbs and sharp points. A wispy beard showed under his high cheekbones and wide mouth. He rarely spoke, but he smiled often, and his teeth were straight and very white in his dark face. Maybe because he was so quiet, his light brown eyes seemed to see what others missed.
Shem had wondered for weeks if Enosh could actually speak at all, until yesterday when he noticed that Enosh’s arms were covered with angry red welts. Shem raised his brows in question as Enosh absently rubbed the swollen marks. “Bees,” was his only word of explanation.
Enosh did all he could to help Shem learn the hard work of an olive farmer. Shem was grateful and surprised, for Enosh had good reason to resent him. Surely Abahu had thought of giving his land and livelihood to his nephew. Shem wished he could tell Enosh that he probably wouldn’t be in Sychar long enough to threaten his inheritance.
He picked up the last seedling and brought it to where Enosh swung a mattock at t
he hard ground. “Enosh, do you know the girl that lives in the house in the valley? West of town?”
The mattock hit the ground with a thud. Enosh turned to Shem and tipped his head.
“Is she . . . I mean, is there . . .” Shem’s face warmed.
Enosh’s forehead wrinkled.
How could Shem ask about her without admitting that he’d been alone with her in the olive grove? That would get her into even more trouble. “I mean, what is her name?”
Enosh’s long fingers pried the seedling from Shem’s fist. “Mara.” He cradled the wilted vine in his hand. “Her name is Mara.”
Shem left Enosh and trudged down the hill to Abahu. Mara. Bitter. Her tears had been bitter last night. “The seedlings are planted.”
“Good,” his grandfather said. He tossed Shem a broken mattock. “Now, take this down to Uziel’s shop. See if he can repair it. If not, we’ll need a new one. Go ahead home when you’re done. We’re finished here.”
Shem hiked down the hill. When he reached the marketplace, he slowed his pace. An argument was brewing.
A large man with thinning gray hair and fine clothes bellowed before a group of at least a dozen men. His belly jutted over his belt, and his neck draped over his collar in thick folds. Near him stood Jonothon, the youngest priest of Sychar. Small and thin, with a sparse beard, he looked hardly older than Shem. To one side stood Uziel, the friendly tool merchant, his bald head shining in the sun, and the old shepherd Noach, the father of Enosh. Noach was as talkative as his youngest son was silent, despite being stricken with an illness that had frozen one side of his face in a fearsome and permanent frown.
The big man continued to shout. “I tell you, she is guilty of adultery! We all know it!”
Shem stopped just outside the circle of men. Just what was going on here?
“Are we to watch our women make fools of us?” The man’s bushy eyebrows were pushed down over his red face. The priest and some of the men shook their heads.
“The Lord has commanded, you shall not commit adultery,” Jonothon said to the crowd.
A bent old man stepped forward. “Zevulun, calm yourself. We know nothing but gossip. We cannot convict a woman on gossip alone.”
So the red-faced shouter was Zevulun. Shem had heard talk of him. He was the richest man in the village and the father of the bully on the road that first day.
Uziel and Noach nodded their agreement with the old man.
Another man, the old shepherd that lived alone on the other side of Mount Ebal, shouted, “Nava is guilty; we all know it!”
Zevulun held up his arms. “Did she not have the pagan in her home last night? Here.” His eyes locked on Shem, and he pointed. “This man witnessed them together! Come here and tell them.”
The men turned as one to study Shem.
Shem drew a sharp breath. That woman, Adah, had jumped on his words with glee. This has something to do with the girl, Mara. Who was Nava, and what had he started? And this man, Zevulun, dared to drag him into his battle and order him about like a servant?
Shem threw his head back and considered Zevulun. “You are wrong. I witnessed nothing.”
Zevulun’s eyes narrowed, then he dismissed Shem with a wave and turned back to the men, “We don’t need his testimony. Who among us does not know this is true? She has been this way since she was a girl. She defiles this city with her disgraceful ways!”
Noach stepped up, his permanent scowl even deeper. “Let the woman be, Zevulun. You have held on to your anger for far too long.”
Zevulun’s face turned a darker shade of red. “What? My—this has nothing to do with that! You are blinded by her as you have always been! She deserves to be thrown out of this town—no, stoned!”
“Perhaps she is guilty,” Noach said, “but what good would stoning do?” He turned to face the milling group of men. “It would leave her daughter and a crippled son with no mother at all.” Murmurs of agreement spread through the crowd. “Her husband is gone. He divorced her years ago. How can she be guilty of adultery if she has no husband?”
Zevulun was losing the crowd. He motioned for the young priest to speak.
Jonothon stepped forward quickly, like a dog called by his master.
The men quieted. “For many generations, we have followed the laws of Moses more truly than those who worship in Jerusalem. While the other towns of Samaria fell into the ways of the pagans, we have endured, and God has blessed us. We cannot allow sin to pollute us now.”
Some men nodded at this; others looked unsure.
Uziel stepped forward and held up his hands. “Wait. We have no proof of any wrongdoing. Until we do, a trial is impossible. We shall attend to the truth and trust in the Lord. The Passover starts tomorrow, so let us discuss this after the week of Massot.”
This time, most of the men nodded their heads, and the crowd began to break up.
Zevulun stepped close to Uziel and glared, his protruding belly almost touching the smaller man. “So be it. We will do nothing for now, Uziel. If it is proof you want, the Lord will provide proof. Then, your sister-in-law will be punished.”
Shem backed away. Stoned? They couldn’t mean that. But if they did, this woman’s death would be his fault. If he had only kept silent. Why does trouble find me no matter where I go?
• • •
Shem took a warm round of bread from Mechola. He crouched near the cooking fire behind the house as she slapped dough on the hot stones. Shem set the bread aside. He couldn’t eat. His mouth felt like a dry streambed.
“So it was because of what I said, about the donkey?”
“Adah is perhaps the biggest gossip in the village. You didn’t know, so don’t blame yourself.” Mechola flipped another hot round of bread onto the growing pile next to her. “That home, the one where the donkey was tied, belongs to the woman Nava. She is alone. Her husband is . . . gone.”
Shem’s face heated as he understood his grandmother’s delicate phrasing. He swallowed hard, then continued. “So Adah told her husband, and now they accuse this woman, Nava, of . . . being with the pagan?”
Mechola reached up to put her arm around his shoulders. “You couldn’t have known, Shem. And it probably would have gotten out anyway. This has been coming for a long time.”
He couldn’t help but ask. “She has a daughter?”
“Yes, my boy. Her name is Mara, and her life, like her name, is a bitter one.”
“Why is that?” But he already knew.
His grandmother sighed and shook her head. “Through no fault of her own, my boy. She seems to be a good girl. But her mother is a disgrace to her family.”
Mechola busied her hands with the flat rounds of dough. “Mara’s father is dead, and Nava’s last husband left her. Her little brother is lame and will never be able to provide for them. No man in this town wants anything to do with Nava and a crippled boy. Yes, Mara is beautiful,” Mechola glanced at him, “but that only reminds them all of her mother.”
“The men—Zevulun and the priest—they spoke of a trial?”
Mechola slapped another round of dough on the cooking stone. “Zevulun hates Nava. He has looked for a way to drive her out for many years. He may just succeed this time.”
Shem remembered the cruel boys throwing rocks and Mara’s tears in the olive grove. So Mara had good reason to cry. He shook his head to drive her image from it. He had been sent to Sychar to stay out of trouble. And this was definitely trouble.
• • •
“You wanted to see me, Uncle?” Mara stepped into her uncle’s cramped shop. It was late in the afternoon, and the slanting rays of the sun lit the shop with golden light.
Hoes and mattocks lined the walls. Hammers and saws hung from nails. Coils of twine and rope were piled in a corner. Uziel sat on a low bench, fitting a mattock blade into a new wooden handle.
“Yes, Mara. Come in and sit.”
Mara hesitated. Her uncle was a good man, and kind. He never raised his voice to his children
. She had seen him run his hands over Ruth’s hair and gaze at her like she was an Egyptian princess. He gave food and oil to her and Asher. But he rarely spoke to Mara. And never alone. Had news of Alexandros already reached him?
She shuffled through the gloom and sat at his feet. Whatever it was, he must be obeyed. He was the head of her family now that Shaul was gone.
“Mara.” Uziel picked up a length of twine and wound it into a coil. Then he unwound it. He pulled at it, as if testing its strength. His brows knit together. “Mara. I have received an offer of marriage for you.”
Mara felt her mouth drop open. She snapped it shut. Marriage? For her? Who could it be? Her heart raced. Who in the village was of age? She had given up on the thought of marriage. A lightness lifted her heart—a home of her own and children!
But Uziel wasn’t smiling. Why wasn’t he smiling? This had to be what he wanted. Finally, she would no longer be his burden. And neither would Nava. His hands worried at the twine in his hands. Why wouldn’t he look at her?
“Who is it?” she asked. Her joyful hope had shriveled and now sat like a rock in her belly.
He coiled the rope again, then put it down at his feet and finally met her eyes. “Jobab, the shepherd, has asked for you.”
The name hit her like a kick in the stomach. Jobab? “But he’s—”
Uziel held up one hand. “I know. He’s old enough to be your grandfather. His last wife, though, was even younger than you.”
His last wife. Dara—dead at the bottom of the gorge. And the wife before that—dead from a blow to the head.
Uziel fidgeted on the bench. “He is old. Yes, I know he is not what a young girl wishes for in a husband. But Mara,” Uziel looked behind her at the empty doorway and lowered his voice, “he is very old. When he dies, you will have his flocks, his house. You won’t have to depend on others.”
Depend on others. He meant depend on him. “Uncle, I can make more thread. I can weave and sell it in the marketplace. I promise not to be a burden on you.” Just don’t make me marry that man. The one with two dead wives.