Mary
Mary picked her way around the olive trees with Nathaniel. Although it was still early in the morning, she could hear the thwack of an ax against wood as Horeb pruned. Limbs lay strewn about the ground, evidence of Horeb’s hard work.
Lazarus had mentioned a time or two that Horeb didn’t believe in wasting a single daylight hour. And that proved to be correct as Mary arrived at the scene of Horeb hard at work, even at this early hour, pruning the trees.
He didn’t see them at first, and Mary hated to interrupt his diligent work, but he lifted his head as she approached.
Horeb’s smile was quick and genuine the moment he saw her. But then his brows pulled down when he spotted Nathaniel, and Mary knew he was remembering Lazarus and realized she wouldn’t be approaching so early in the morning if all was well.
Horeb propped his ax against an olive tree trunk, then brushed off his hands.
“What is it, Mary?” he asked, his voice low and warm yet wary. “Is it your brother?”
“Yes,” she said, surprised that her voice was choked. “He is much worse, and we fear for his very life.” She blinked rapidly, her eyes burning, her throat stinging.
“Father is not coherent,” Nathaniel added. “He’s coughing up blood now. The healer has tried everything, and so has Martha.”
Horeb was at their sides in seconds. He didn’t touch them, but Mary could feel his compassion as if he held her hand in his.
“We should ask the entire village to pray for him,” he said. “Adonai will listen.”
Horeb’s faith had never stopped amazing Mary. “We need . . . we need someone to find Jesus and ask Him to come to Bethany.”
Horeb didn’t say anything for a moment, and Mary could practically see the thoughts flitting across his face. “I will go.”
She hadn’t even directly asked him, yet he was willing. “What about the grove?”
“I will work day and night when I return if I have to,” he said in a fervent tone. “Can I take a donkey? If not, I can walk.”
“You can take a donkey,” Mary said, relief bubbling up in her chest.
Nathaniel grinned. “Let’s go get the donkey now.”
Mary’s heart soared as they headed out of the grove and walked along the main road leading into the heart of the village. The morning was still early enough that the lanes and roads were empty.
“Mary,” a boy called out, and she realized that Rhode, Martha, and Zachary were traveling in the same direction. Claudia was also with them.
Mary’s group slowed to wait for them. “Horeb will go find Jesus,” Mary said as soon as they were close enough.
“Then we will divide up and cover more ground,” Zachary said, scanning the group.
“You’ve agreed too?” Mary said, wonder filling her. Horeb was very loyal to her brother, but for Zachary, it would be an even greater sacrifice.
“Father says I can stay at your house,” Claudia piped up. “Martha says I can help with the new babe.”
“And so you shall,” Mary said, smiling down at the young girl.
“Come on,” Rhode said. “Mother will be so happy with the news. Let’s hurry.”
Time was of the essence, and Mary hurried along with the group to their house. The sun finally spilled across the horizon as they turned onto the last lane. The soft gold rays bathed the houses they passed, making everything look brilliant and full of promise.
But as Mary opened the gate and headed across the courtyard, she heard someone crying, no, wailing. The first thought that went through her head was that the babe was awake again, but then she realized it wasn’t an infant’s cry; it was a woman’s.
“Leah,” Mary breathed, reaching for the door with trembling hands.
Martha was right beside her, and the two women rushed into the house.
Leah’s cries echoed through the empty rooms, and Mary didn’t know what to think. Was Leah ill? Had something happened to the child? To . . .
“Lazarus!” Mary called out, running after Martha, who’d taken off down the corridor leading to the bedchambers.
Mary stopped next to Martha, who hovered in the doorway. Leah was inside the boys’ room, kneeling over Lazarus, clutching his clothing as she wailed.
“Lazarus,” Mary cried out again, rushing into the room. She knelt on the other side of her brother’s prostrate form. His skin was so pale that it was almost translucent. Mary stared at her brother’s face, his closed eyes, his familiar cheeks, eyebrows, and beard. The lines about his eyes that deepened when he smiled.
He could very well be asleep, but Mary knew his spirit was gone. She felt the absence of it. She placed a hand on his chest. There was no rise and fall of breath, and his body was rigid and cool.
Leah continued to wail, and mixed in now were cries from other family members.
Mary gazed at the still form of her brother, hoping and praying for his chest to move, for his breath to return to his body. Lazarus gone . . . it was incomprehensible.
“No, no, no,” Mary choked out. And then she couldn’t look at her brother’s body anymore. She couldn’t be in the same room. She couldn’t listen to the heart-piercing sorrow around her.
It was too late to save him.
Horeb and Zachary wouldn’t be scouring the countryside now, looking for Jesus.
There would be no triumphant arrival and healing of her brother.
Mary moved out of the room, past Naomi clinging to her mother and Martha clutching the boys to her, past a stunned Horeb and Zachary in the corridor. Mary didn’t stop until she reached the back courtyard and sank to her knees in the dirt of the reaped vegetable garden.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t comprehend.
Lazarus couldn’t be dead. She’d never felt so abandoned, not even when each of her parents had died. She’d always had her brother, and he’d always promised to be there for her, to take care of her, even when she told him she wouldn’t marry Isaac.
Mary closed her eyes, wanting this day to have never started. She wished that the sun had never risen, that she had not left the house when her brother had been taking his last breaths. He had a family, a wife, a new child.
After all the miracles they’d seen with Jesus’s visit in Bethany and all the blessings in their lives, how could this happen? How could something so terrible and final happen?
Jesus had taught them about eternal life, and Mary knew it was true. She held on to that faith. But the pain coursing through her was unbearable.
Despite the walls separating her from the bedchamber where Lazarus lay, she could still hear the crying and keening. It wouldn’t be long before the neighbors would arrive and join in.
She buried her face in her hands as she stayed kneeling in the dirt. She didn’t notice the warming sun cutting through the chilly wind. She didn’t hear the birds chirping their early spring songs. She felt nothing, saw nothing. All she could think about was that they’d been too late. They should have sent for Jesus days ago. He could have arrived by now, and her brother would have been healed.
“Mary,” a gentle voice said as a hand rested on her shoulder.
She recognized Horeb’s voice, but she didn’t move or respond.
He knelt beside her, his hand still on her shoulder. “I am so very sorry.”
Mary knew Horeb was sincere, but he’d only known Lazarus for a short time.
When Mary didn’t respond, a few moments later, Horeb said, “He is in heaven now. He feels no more pain.”
Mary knew the words were true, but she hated every single one of them. She couldn’t speak; she didn’t want to. Yet Horeb remained next to her.
She wasn’t sobbing, but she kept her face buried in her hands. Her thoughts muddled together, and she couldn’t sort any of them out.
The morning progressed, and still, she stayed outside. Horeb tried to coax her inside, but she only shook her head. Soon, he brought a rug and placed it over her shoulders. The morning passed, and she heard voices coming from the home. Visitors and mourners.
Around midday, Martha came into the courtyard. “Mary, come with me.”
Mary didn’t answer, couldn’t answer.
Martha crouched before Mary and grasped her hands. “We must prepare our brother’s body for burial,” Martha said in a quiet but firm tone. “Leah is still recovering from childbirth, and it is our duty to do this last honor for Lazarus.”
Mary looked into Martha’s eyes. They were red-rimmed as they blinked back at her. It was clear that Martha had been crying as well.
“How can you do it?” Mary asked. “Continue on and stay on your feet despite the fact that our brother is dead? He’s gone, Martha. Gone.” Her voice broke, and she squeezed her eyes shut again. “What are we going to do? Rhode and Nathaniel are too young to take over the groves, and none of us women can go on trading journeys.”
Martha only tightened her grasp. “I am relying on faith alone, Mary. I cannot think of tomorrow right now or next week or any day beyond that. All I know is that right now, today, you and I need to prepare our brother’s body for burial. We will manage it somehow. We’ll make it through the next hour together, then the one after that. But I need you, Mary. I lost a brother too. Please don’t turn into yourself.”
Mary clung to Martha’s hands, then she let Martha draw her to her feet. Soon, the two women were embracing.
After a few moments, Mary took a deep, shuddering breath. Her sister needed her, and she needed her sister. She couldn’t expect Leah to have the strength to prepare Lazarus’s body for burial.
“What if I can’t do it?” Mary whispered into Martha’s hair.
“Then we will take a break,” Martha said. “But we won’t know until we try.” She drew away and held Mary’s gaze. “Come. Tamara has brought the oils, and Eunice has brought the burial linens.”
“Already?” Mary said, blinking back the tears.
“You have been outside for some time,” Martha said, no reprimand in her tone.
Mary tilted her head toward the sky to check the position of the sun. It was midafternoon. She had been out here for longer than she’d realized, not that her thoughts had been exactly rational in the first place.
“Horeb tried to get me to come in, but he eventually gave up.”
“He didn’t give up,” Martha said. “He didn’t want the villagers to speculate about the two of you.”
Mary didn’t have the emotional stamina to ponder what that might mean. But she knew she didn’t want anything to mar her brother’s or her family’s reputation. Ever.
“Horeb is a good man,” Mary murmured.
“Yes, he is,” Martha said. “He offered to continue working without pay until we can figure out how to run the groves. We’ll provide food for him, of course.”
Mary nodded and swallowed past the swollenness of her throat. “Our brother knew how to pick his friends.”
Martha’s eyes brightened a fraction. “Yes, and we need to be grateful for our brother’s legacy. He will be laid to rest before sundown, so we must make haste now.”
Still, Mary hesitated. “Is the house full of people?”
“They didn’t come to judge you, sister,” Martha said quietly. “They’re here to pay their respects to the family and offer condolences. Your failed betrothal with Isaac is a thing of the past.”
Mary wanted to believe her sister, truly she did. But she hated to come face-to-face with one of the village gossipers. No matter what they said to her, she’d know what they were secretly thinking.
Martha grasped Mary’s hand and led her toward the back entrance of the house.
“Leah has cleaned his prayer shawl,” Martha said.
“She has done so much when she should be resting and grieving,” Mary said—like she’d been resting and grieving, leaving all that work to everyone else.
“Keeping busy is keeping us from melting into puddles of despair,” Martha said. “That will come soon enough.”
With both reluctance and determination, Mary followed Martha into the house. A couple of women were in the cooking room, preparing a meal in hushed quiet.
Martha greeted them, but Mary only nodded. She didn’t trust her voice to speak. In a few moments, she’d see her brother again. Her deceased brother, who would never walk or talk or laugh again.
Eunice and Tamara crossed to Mary and embraced her. She held on to each, drawing their strength to give her more courage to attend to her brother in a few moments.
“We are here for you, dear one,” Tamara murmured as she pulled away.
“Thank you,” Mary whispered.
Martha drew her along the corridor leading to the bedchamber. Mary stopped in the doorway as Martha continued into the room.
Lazarus lay upon the mat where he’d taken his last breath. Someone had placed a linen shroud over him, and the stillness of his form brought a fresh round of tears to Mary’s eyes.
“Oh, Lazarus,” Mary whispered. “Please let this be a horrible dream.” But it was no dream. Her brother was beneath the shroud.
Martha extended her hand, and Mary took it. Together, the sisters approached the body and knelt on each side.
Martha slowly withdrew the shroud while Mary held her breath. Her brother’s color was too pale, and she keenly felt his absence. But a calm had settled in the room since the other sounds throughout the house seemed far away now.
The two sisters began anointing Lazarus’s head with oil, then cleansed his body with scented water, followed by more oil applications. The sweet fragrance filled the room, both soothing and edged with the pain in Mary’s heart.
Martha had been right. Doing this last service for their brother was necessary and healing.
“Where are Leah and the children?” Mary whispered as they finished up.
“They’ve all been in her room,” Martha said. “Naomi has cried herself to sleep, and the boys won’t leave their mother’s side.”
Mary nodded, blinking rapidly. “I will go to them and offer my support. I spent too much time outside, selfish in my grief.”
Martha reached over and took her hand. “Mary, we are all coping in the best way we can. No one criticizes you for taking time for yourself.”
“Thank you,” Mary said. “But if anyone taught me that I need to look beyond myself, it was Jesus and His parables of serving those in need. And my family taught me that love can carry us through anything. Leah and the children are in greater need than I am, and I should be focusing on them.”
Martha’s smile was soft. “You are a wonder, dear sister.”
The two sisters rose from their task and embraced again.
Then Mary steeled herself for her next actions. Leaving the chamber, she walked to the one Leah and Lazarus had shared. Martha had been right; Naomi was asleep, curled next to her mother’s side, and Rhode and Nathaniel also reclined close by. The entire family was on the platform bed.
Mary crossed the room and kissed and embraced Rhode, then Nathan. Next, she kissed Leah’s cheek, then said, “I will take the babe for a while, and you can get your rest.”
Leah smiled her gratitude.
Holding the precious child in her arms brought both tears to Mary’s eyes and a sense of protection. She would help raise this little boy of her brother’s, and she would do anything she could to make sure the family was provided for.
She walked the corridors, the babe cradled in her arms, as she thought about the contributions she could make. Maybe she could learn midwifery from Tamara. Or she could offer her services in embroidery and sell pieces at the market. It was really the only talent she excelled at. Or she could marry and ask her husband to help provide for her family. The men in the village who were in a position to take a wife had already heard about her rejection of Isaac. Although no one would say it to her face, she knew that her name was tainted. And she no longer had the protection and good reputation of Lazarus.
If only Jesus had come in time. If only . . .