Martha
Martha had not seen or spoken to Zachary for two days, not since their encounter at the burial site when he’d asked her to be his wife. She tried not to think about it because even though she’d been caught off guard, she’d now had time to entertain the idea. And she found it favorable.
Yes, she knew Zachary would not love her the same or as much as he seemed to have loved his first wife. And perhaps the same could be said of her. Would she be able to love another man, care for him with her whole heart, in the way she had for her first husband, Yosef? Martha couldn’t see how.
But time had moved on, and the edges of her sorrow had softened.
Perhaps it was because of the miracle of her brother’s life and the new hope that Jesus had brought, but Martha had felt a weight lift. One she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying.
“Martha,” Mary called through the narrow opening of her bedchamber door.
Mary had been an early riser as of late. It was as if the reemergence of their brother had stoked a new fire within her. They’d also had many visitors to their home, often from dawn until dusk. People had traveled from different villages, curious to see the man Lazarus who’d risen from the dead.
“I’m awake,” Martha said. In fact, she’d been awake since before dawn, but she hadn’t prepared for the day yet or left her bedchamber. “Come in.” She sat up in her bed as Mary walked into the room, a satchel over her shoulder.
“Lazarus has had some news about Jesus.”
This brought Martha to full awareness. “So early in the morning?”
“It seems the Pharisees and their allies do not sleep,” Mary continued, sitting on the edge of the platform bed. She set the satchel next to her. “Isaac returned from Jerusalem early this morning, and he’s already reported his news. Caiaphas has increased his accusations, and Jesus is on His way to Jerusalem.”
“What?” Martha asked, her mind reeling. “Surely Jesus knows there is danger to His life there. Even if it is the Passover, Jesus could be tried and convicted.”
Mary looked down at the hands clasped in her lap. “He knows. He also knows that a trial will be a death sentence. Don’t you see, Martha? He will be the Passover itself. On the road to Jerusalem, He prophesied of His own death.”
Martha had no answer. She could not comprehend such a thing. “He must not go to Jerusalem, then. Lazarus should warn Him.”
Mary stared at Martha. “Don’t you see? The death of Jesus has been foretold for centuries.” She brought out a scroll from the satchel next to her on the bed. “Listen to what Zechariah said: ‘Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion; shout, O daughter of Jerusalem: behold, thy King cometh unto thee: he is just, and having salvation; lowly, and riding upon an ass, and upon a colt the foal of an ass.’”
“What does it mean?” Martha asked, not having studied or learned as Mary had.
“The people will rejoice that Jesus is returning to Jerusalem,” Mary said. “The ancient prophet Zechariah speaks about how the Messiah would be a priest, governor, and humble king. But He would also return to Jerusalem in triumph.”
“So this is good news?” Martha prompted.
Mary again looked down at her clasped hands. She didn’t answer for a moment, and when she lifted her head, tears shone in her eyes. “The Messiah will be rejected by His own people. There are too many who are against Him, and they have a powerful voice led by Caiaphas.”
Martha exhaled. “Is there a prophecy about that too?”
Mary nodded and withdrew a much older scroll. She smoothed it open. “The prophet Isaiah said, ‘Who hath believed our report? and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed? . . . He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.’”
Martha had heard the prophesies of Isaiah discussed by men, including Yosef and Lazarus. But it had never felt so personal until now. “Perhaps these things have already come to pass. We know that His life has already been in danger. Maybe He won’t be brought to trial.”
“No,” Mary said, her voice a whisper. “He will be betrayed by one of His followers. The psalms of David are twofold.” She searched in her satchel until she found the scroll she was looking for. “‘Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me.’” She took a breath. “And then again, in a later psalm by David, he said, ‘For it was not an enemy that reproached me; then I could have borne it: neither was it he that hated me that did magnify himself against me; then I would have hid myself from him: But it was thou, a man mine equal, my guide, and mine acquaintance.’”
Martha thought of the Apostles she’d met. Could it be one of them? The thought was devastating. All of the Apostles had healed and blessed the sick and aided Jesus in teaching the new way. “How can this be? His Apostles have seen His miracles firsthand. They cannot deny what they have seen. Nor can they resent Him.”
“It is unfathomable,” Mary agreed.
The two sisters sat in silence for several moments as the rising sun’s rays tracked across the bedchamber. Then Mary pulled out another scroll from her satchel. This one was not ancient but looked as if it was something Mary used to write on. “This is the message Lazarus received—the words of Jesus spoken to His Apostles and passed along to His followers.”
“What does it say?”
Mary began to read. “‘Behold, we go up to Jerusalem; and the Son of man shall be betrayed unto the chief priests and unto the scribes, and they shall condemn him to death.’” Her voice broke.
Martha closed her eyes. How could Jesus return to Jerusalem if He knew what awaited Him?
“‘And shall deliver him to the Gentiles to mock, and to scourge, and to crucify him.’” Mary’s voice trembled with emotion as she continued. “‘And the third day he shall rise again.’”
“Crucify,” Martha whispered. It was a slow and horrible death, one reserved for criminals when the government wanted to warn others against the same crimes. The convicted criminal would hang on the cross with no food or water until starvation or lack of breath took his life. “And then He will rise again on the third day?”
Mary wiped at her eyes. “Yes.”
Martha released another slow breath. “Is there nothing we can do for Him?”
“Pray,” Mary said, her tone resigned.
“I understand that the prophesies must come to pass,” Martha said, feeling an urgency build within her. “But Jesus is a young man, only in His third decade. Surely there is much more for Him to do upon the earth.”
Mary carefully set all of her scrolls into her satchel, then stood. “This is why I have come to your bedchamber this morning, to explain all that I know. I have only told you partial information so far.”
Martha frowned. “What do you mean, sister?”
“I can’t say if Jesus would have lived longer upon the earth if He hadn’t raised our brother from the dead. He has performed a feat only Divinity can perform. Our brother has received word that Jesus’s followers have multiplied.” She crossed to the window that overlooked the lane below. “Look outside.”
“What is it?” Martha climbed out of bed and joined her sister at the window. Below, a line of people stood outside their gate. Some were sitting; others looked as if they’d been there all night with their bundles and sleeping mats. How had she not seen them last night? And then she thought of how tired she’d been after two days of rejoicing and reorienting her life once again. “Who are they?”
“They want to see Lazarus,” Mary said. “They want to witness for themselves the miracle of Jesus.”
Martha shouldn’t be surprised, but she was. As she gazed down at the line of people, another man appeared, moving at a quick pace. It took only a moment for her to recognize Horeb.
He spoke to those in line and seemed to be ushering them away from the house. As the sisters watched, one by one, the people took up their bundles and left.
“He’s making them leave,” Mary said on an exhale. “Is there nothing that man cannot do?”
Martha saw the faint color on her sister’s cheeks. “He is a good man and a good employee for Lazarus.”
“Yes, he is,” Mary said.
The look they shared said what words couldn’t—they understood each other.
“He is young,” Mary said. “Young yet to take on a wife and the responsibilities of a family.”
Martha smiled gently and grasped her sister’s hand. “The weeks and months will pass, and soon he won’t be as young.”
Mary returned the smile, then gave a soft laugh. “Am I that transparent?”
“Only to me,” Martha said, although she would be surprised if Lazarus and Leah hadn’t noticed Mary’s keen interest in Horeb.
It might take months, even a year or more, for Horeb to be established in Bethany and to be making a living beyond that of a common laborer at the grove.
Mary turned back to the window, and so did Martha. The line of people had now scattered, although Horeb remained at the gate to the courtyard as if he were a sentinel.
“Does the man never sleep?” Martha marveled.
“I don’t think so,” Mary said, both amusement and respect in her tone. “The day our brother aided Horeb was a blessed day indeed.”
Martha couldn’t agree more. Below, Horeb’s attention had been caught by something, and Martha followed the direction of his gaze.
“What is it?” Mary murmured.
“It’s a . . . mob.” Martha stared at the approaching men. There were at least a dozen of them, and several carried spears and other weapons of war. She didn’t recognize any of them at first, and then . . . she saw Isaac.
“Isaac,” Mary said at the same time Martha realized who it was.
“He’s—”
Isaac pushed Horeb against the gate in a threatening manner. Mary screamed, and Martha gasped in horror.
Horeb shouted for Isaac to leave the property, his voice echoing through the courtyard and reaching the upper-floor bedchamber, but Isaac didn’t seem to be backing off.
“Lazarus,” Mary cried out. “We must tell him.”
“Where is he?” Martha asked, grabbing her robe and rushing out of the room. She fled down the corridor and stopped at the top of the staircase.
Lazarus was leading Leah and the children up the stairs toward her.
“Stay up here,” Lazarus said to Martha. “I will send someone to guard the staircase until the frenzy dies down.”
Martha stepped aside as Leah rushed past her with her children, and before Lazarus could head back down the stairs, Martha grasped his arm. “What is happening, brother? Why are Isaac and those men trying to get into our courtyard?”
Lazarus held her stare, his brown eyes intent on hers, but she saw his indecision, as if he didn’t want to tell her something he’d regret.
“There’s a declaration from the chief priests,” Lazarus said in a whispered tone.
“A declaration about what?” Martha pressed. Her brother had pulled from her grasp and gone down a step. “Tell me.”
“The news of my miracle has spread far and wide,” he said, his tone still hushed. “The chief priests are blaming me for the number of followers who are supporting Jesus. And the chief priests want me . . . dead.”
Martha stared at her brother, stunned. “No.”
He nodded, regret filling his eyes. “All of Jerusalem is in an uproar,” he said. “Caiaphas has doubled his efforts, and when Jesus arrives in Jerusalem, it will be the beginning of the end.”
Martha closed her eyes. “So what Mary said is true.” Not that she’d doubted, but hearing her brother confirm it made it all the more real. She opened her eyes to find her brother’s gaze stoic.
“It is true,” Lazarus said.
“What does Isaac want with you?” she whispered.
“He wants to arrest me and take me to Jerusalem.”
Martha covered her mouth. “What will you do?”
“I’ve a plan to evade Isaac, but he won’t be the only one seeking my capture.”
Martha’s stomach felt like she’d swallowed pebbles. How could this be happening? After all the miracles and blessings? Her attention shifted to the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. When the dark, curly hair of Zachary appeared, Martha started.
“Zachary,” she breathed.
He held Claudia’s hand in one of his, and in the other, he gripped a spear. Across his chest was slung a bow.
“Go to Martha,” Zachary said, releasing his daughter’s hand. Claudia scurried up the last few steps.
Before Martha could say anything, Zachary said to Lazarus, “I’ll guard the stairs. You escape out the back way. No one will get past me.”
Lazarus clapped a hand on Zachary’s shoulder. “Thank you, my friend.” Then he glanced back at Martha. “Be safe, dear sister.”
She watched him head down the stairs, taking all her questions and doubts with him. Claudia slipped a hand into Martha’s, and Martha looked down at the young girl. Her wide, trusting eyes looked up at Martha.
“Father said I can play with Naomi, but we have to be very, very quiet.”
Martha swallowed. “Of course you may.” She turned to Zachary. “Why are you here?”
His dark eyes were a deep well she couldn’t see the end of. “Just as I told your brother—for protection.”
“Putting yourself in this position only sets you in the middle of it,” Martha said.
Zachary didn’t waver. “I know.”
Martha didn’t have a reply to that. She moved up a step and reached the landing, still holding Claudia’s hand.
Zachary gave her the slightest nod.
Martha nodded right back, then turned. Walking down the corridor, firmly holding Claudia’s hand, Martha found herself overwhelmed once again by Zachary’s generosity.
As soon as Claudia saw Naomi, the two girls found their own corner of the room to play in. Martha couldn’t sit still, though. Worries plagued her mind. She paced the room, then paced the corridor outside. When she heard footsteps on the floor below, she went to the top of the stairs again.
Zachary passed by. He glanced up, and his steps slowed.
“Is everything all right up there?” he asked, concern in his dark eyes.
“All is well,” Martha said.
But she didn’t leave the landing, and Zachary didn’t move either. Their gazes remained locked, and Martha sensed Zachary wanted to say something, but for some reason he was hesitant.
“If there’s anything you need in the cooking room, help yourself,” she said. “I could come down and prepare a meal—”
“No,” Zachary said, lifting his hand. “That’s not it.”
She waited as he looked down, then back up at her, his eyes more intense now. “I know this is not the ideal time, and maybe with the events such as they are, there may not be an ideal time. But I have something to ask you, Martha.”
The softness of her name on his lips tugged at something deep inside her.
“You are a woman unlike any other,” he said. “And I would be honored—honored if you’d consider becoming my wife.”
Martha heard the words, but she wasn’t sure she could comprehend them. Her brother was alive now, and the family was not as desperate as they had been without their patriarch and protector. She didn’t want to marry a man who pitied her.
“Zachary, with the return of Lazarus, you no longer need to rescue me.”
His brows lifted, and his mouth opened. No words came out.
“I will be fine, and I want you to know that you and your daughter will always be dear to me.”
“Martha.” Zachary moved up a step. “I am not asking you out of pity or any sense of duty. I am asking you to be my wife because I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Martha’s eyes burned at his declaration.
Zachary hadn’t moved, but his demeanor made her feel as if he were standing right in front of her.
“If you are in agreement, I would like to speak to your brother and ask for his permission.” His smile was faint, hopeful. “If I have your permission to do so.”
The gentleness and sincerity of his tone pushed something in Martha’s heart aside, and she felt her own smile begin. “You have my permission.”