Martha
Martha paced before the door of her sister’s bedchamber. When she’d found Mary outside the synagogue the other night, Martha had barely held her patience together. First, Mary wasn’t to be outside after dark. Not because of risk to body and limb but because virtuous women needed to keep their reputations intact.
Yet Martha had kept her reprimands silent all the way home, and then all through Sabbath evening, and all the next day, so that Leah wouldn’t be distressed by an argument between the sisters on the Sabbath. When Lazarus was gone, the burden rested heavier upon all of them, and Martha didn’t want to add to that. Keeping her frustrations inside was best for the extended family.
Now awake since the first silver gleam of dawn, Martha couldn’t rest, couldn’t relax. What if someone had seen Mary? The last thing their family needed was to be the center of village gossip right before the official betrothal ceremony and banquet. A tarnish on Mary’s name would bring disgrace upon the entire family.
And Martha couldn’t allow that to happen. She needed Mary to understand how close she’d brought the family to ruin.
Martha’s patience was no longer hers to hold, and she cracked open the door to Mary’s bedchamber. Unlike the evening before when Martha had found it empty, the room was now occupied. But instead of finding her sister still asleep, Mary sat on a cushion near the window, bent over a scroll in her lap.
For a moment, Martha second-guessed her rehearsed reprimand. Mary’s explanation about being outside the synagogue so she could listen to Elder Gideon’s reading of the words of Isaiah had seemed innocent enough, but Mary knew Lazarus wouldn’t approve of such actions while he was traveling. This concerned Martha.
Mary was so engrossed in her reading that she didn’t even look up when Martha entered. Perhaps their father had been remiss in teaching Mary to read like the boys in the village. Now, it seemed that Mary spent every spare moment focused on something other than her duties.
Martha crossed to the platform bed and sat on the corner, and only then did her sister lift her head.
At seventeen, Mary was past the typical age of becoming betrothed, but the death of their father had thrown the entire family into mourning. Besides, the man whom their parents had their eye on for Mary’s husband had married another in the interim. So now Mary should be more than ready to take the next step in her life—to become a wife and mother and manage a household under her new mother-in-law’s tutelage.
Most young women would be more invested in whom they were to marry and anxious to move forward in life. Not Mary. She loved her reading and writing and didn’t seem to mind passing time without a spouse.
“Mary,” Martha said in a quiet tone.
Mary jerked her chin up, her hazel eyes rounding. Her oval face pinked as she quickly rolled up the scroll she held. “I didn’t hear you awaken, sister.”
“I’m not sure if I slept.”
At this, Mary lowered her eyes. “I told you I am sorry for not letting Leah know where I was going.”
Martha exhaled a slow breath. “Being sorry for a mistake is one thing, but deliberately disobeying is another. You sneaked out of our home, the one Lazarus now provides for us. What do you think he would say about your actions last night?”
Mary glanced up, panic darting across her features. “You aren’t going to tell him, are you?”
Yes. The answer was yes, but then Martha wondered if she could use this as leverage in her favor. “I haven’t decided yet.” She raised her hand before Mary could start her pleading. “What if someone saw you sneaking around in the dark? You must understand how serious the consequences could have been. Do you think Isaac would want to marry a woman if she was suspected of secretly meeting someone else? Even if he believed your story, he still has his own reputation to think of.”
Mary’s mouth dropped open, then she clamped it shut, her eyes no longer full of remorse but fire.
But Martha had to be frank no matter how harsh it sounded.
“I am no harlot,” Mary said in a tight tone. “And for anyone to think so or say so is a sin upon their heads.”
“Perhaps.” Martha was glad Mary’s response had been passionate. “But you need to understand that your actions affect not only you and your future with Isaac but our brother’s family as well.”
Mary smoothed back a section of her long dark hair that had fallen over her shoulders. At home, she wore her hair unbound. Martha had never gotten used to that, being a married woman, and now that she was a widow, she continued in her formal habit of wearing a scarf about her head indoors and outdoors.
“Don’t tell Lazarus,” Mary whispered. “I won’t do it again.”
Martha didn’t move for a moment, didn’t respond. “I won’t tell him,” she finally said with a sigh. “At least not yet, but I might have to tell him if someone saw us last night.”
Mary nodded, then swiped at her cheek. A tear had fallen, and Martha looked away. Now wasn’t the time for compassion. The villagers would not extend any understanding, so Martha had to be the firm one upholding the rules within the home.
“Now, we must help Leah with the meal preparations today,” Martha said. “She is putting on a feast to celebrate our brother’s return. Then once we’ve done her bidding, we’ll turn our attention to preparing for your banquet. We have only three more days.”
Mary swiped at another tear, then rose to her feet and carried the scroll to her table. “I will be done in a few moments,” she said in a contrite tone. “Thank you for watching over me.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Martha said over the tightness in her throat. She headed out of the room and upstairs to her own living quarters. Reprimanding an adult woman was not something she wanted to be doing first thing in the morning. And she, along with Leah, would be more than happy when Lazarus returned.
Martha found Leah in the cooking room dealing with a fussy four-year-old. Naomi was sitting at the table, huge tears rolling down her cheeks as she clutched at her cloth doll.
“What’s the matter with Naomi?” Martha asked her sister-in-law in a low tone.
“She doesn’t feel well,” Leah said. “She was restless all night, and I don’t know who slept less.”
Martha then noticed that Leah looked tired as well. Violet circles edged her eyes, and her normally smooth bun was frayed.
Martha crossed to little Naomi and sat on the bench next to her. Placing her hand on her cheek, Martha found it warm, nearly hot. “What’s wrong, little bean?”
Nathaniel had called Naomi “little bean” since she was a babe, saying she looked like one. The nickname had stuck.
“My throat is scratched,” Naomi said, her brown eyes imploring, “and there’s fire in my head.”
Martha heard the hoarseness in the child’s voice. She slipped an arm about Naomi’s shoulders and pulled her close. “I’m very sorry you feel so sick.” She glanced at Leah, who was watching them with pursed lips.
“I can keep her in my room for the day and night,” Martha said. “You don’t want to get her illness, and Lazarus will be exhausted when he returns tonight.”
Leah’s expression remained worried. “You might fall ill, and the banquet is in a few days.”
“I will be fine,” Martha said. Although she couldn’t exactly promise such a thing, it seemed she was the one with the strongest constitution in the family. It had been a long time since she’d been ill.
Leah rested a hand on her large belly as she paused for a moment in her work. “Thank you.”
“Do you want to sleep in my bed?” Martha asked Naomi.
The little girl nodded solemnly.
“All right. Now, let’s get you some tea for your sore throat.” Martha rose from the table and headed outside to the herbal garden that grew alongside the vegetables. She searched through the winter plants but then remembered that she’d given the last healing herbs to her neighbor Eunice, who had been ailing, last week.
She headed back inside. “I need to go to the market after the morning meal to get more herbs.”
“Can I come with you?” Naomi asked in a small voice.
“You need to rest,” Martha said. “But I won’t be gone long.”
By the time Martha had helped Leah prepare the morning meal of boiled barley and honey cakes, Rhode and Nathaniel had appeared, dressed and ready for synagogue. Mary still hadn’t shown up, and Martha was about to fetch her when Mary came down the stairs.
There was no time for any reprimands about her dalliance. Besides, Mary jumped right into helping with serving and then cleanup.
Martha had to be satisfied with that. She kissed the top of Naomi’s head, then hurried out the door.
The morning was still early, but the sun had fully crested the eastern horizon, and the day promised to be cool, though free of clouds or storm. Martha walked in the opposite direction of the boys headed to synagogue. She hoped the herb seller, Josiah, would have the herbs she needed. They’d had plenty of conversations about poultices and teas over the years. Josiah traded with the caravans that passed by Bethany, and he kept up on the knowledge of what to use for the best healing.
“Hello, Martha,” Eunice said, coming out of her courtyard, heading in the same direction. “How fares your household?”
Martha glanced at Eunice, a pretty woman about the same age as Martha, except Eunice was married with two boys of her own. Her husband owned the land to the north and managed several large flocks.
“Naomi is ill with a sore throat and fever,” Martha said, “and I’ve run out of herbs. I’m hoping Josiah has what I need.”
“Good heavens,” Eunice said. “My boys have the same illness. And so does Zachary’s little girl.”
“Zachary?”
“He runs his flocks on my husband’s land.”
Martha nodded, now remembering the widower she’d seen at the burial ground the day before. “Something is sweeping through the village, then,” she said. “Naomi only has contact with her brothers, so I wonder if Rhode and Nathaniel have something too.” She hadn’t noticed any symptoms in them at the morning meal, though.
“Oh, and Mary’s betrothal banquet,” Eunice murmured. “I hope these ill children will recover.”
If Martha wasn’t worried enough, here was a new challenge. When they reached the market square, she was gratified to see that Josiah was already there.
Other women were crowded around the herb seller’s cart. Martha’s heart sank as she approached. The conversations buzzing among the women all had one thing in common: their children were sick.
“Martha, we’re glad you’re here,” an older woman, Phebe, said. She had adult children and young grandchildren. “Two of my grandchildren have been ill all night, and Josiah here says we should try these herbs. Is that what you recommend?”
Perhaps because Martha never kept silent about the best remedies to use, many of the village women consulted with her on herb concoctions. “Yes,” Martha said. “I’ve come to purchase them for my niece as well.”
Josiah stood on the other side of his cart, his expression one of relief. As a round-faced, stocky man, he always seemed to be perspiring. Today was no different despite the cool weather. Martha knew that some of the women could be skeptical or critical of mixtures, tonics, and poultices, often saying that illness, or even death, was simply Adonai’s will.
Martha didn’t see it quite that way. Yes, God was all-knowing and all-powerful, but God had also provided herbs to heal and ease ailments.
Josiah raised his hands to stop the women as they congregated about him, demanding the herbs. “Please form a line in the order you arrived.”
Arguments broke out as the women shuffled into a line.
When Josiah motioned for Martha to join him at the cart, she did so. “Tell them only one handful per person, or I’ll run out.”
Martha helped Josiah navigate the purchases, and soon more women in the village showed up. Even Tamara showed up. Despite her ancient age, she managed to participate in village events. She reached a trembling hand toward the pouch Josiah had prepared for her.
“Do you want me to help you home?” Martha asked Tamara. The woman’s trembling only increased each time she saw her.
“I will be fine, dearest,” Tamara said. “I told my daughter-in-law I’d make the errand. Her three children are ill.”
Martha nodded, marveling at Tamara’s tenacity. When the line of women finally abated, Martha told Josiah, “I really have to get back to Naomi.”
Josiah nodded and pressed a square of cloth against his forehead, then neck. “Thank you for your help. I thought I might be trampled.”
Martha smiled, imagining a man the size of Josiah worrying about a few dozen women.
“I was told you have something to reduce fevers,” a man’s voice said.
Martha and Josiah turned.
Zachary stood there. Martha shouldn’t have been surprised; he didn’t have a wife to go to the market, so of course, he’d have to come himself. What she was surprised at was how seeing him again, this time up close, made her feel . . . like her stomach had traded places with her heart.
“I’ve sold a lot of my herbs this morning,” Josiah said, “but I’ve rationed them, so I still have some.” He picked up a handful of herbs and carefully wrapped them in loosely woven cloth.
“I’ve no money, but I can trade for goat cheese,” Zachary said, lifting the goatskin he carried, presumably filled with goat cheese.
“That is more than enough,” Josiah said. “Is there anything else you need?”
Zachary’s gaze connected briefly with Martha’s, then moved to the other items in the cart. “I really don’t know what to choose. My wife, uh, would have done this. All I want is for Claudia to recover.”
“Perhaps Martha can recommend something,” Josiah said. “She’s well versed in herbs and little girls.”
Zachary’s dark gaze was back on hers, his eyes the color of tree trunks inside the depths of a forest. “You have daughters?”
“No.” Martha quickly shifted her eyes to the items in the cart. “I have no children, but I have a niece and two nephews. You might want some things on hand for your daughter, such as these dried leaves, which can be made into a soothing poultice for insect bites. The herbs Josiah wrapped for you will also make a good tea for upset stomachs.”
In her peripheral vision, she saw Zachary nod, his attention still on her. “How do I make the poultice?”
“You dry out the leaves completely, then crush them a little bit and add water until it becomes a paste.” Martha lifted her eyes to meet his again. This close, he seemed taller than she’d remembered. He wasn’t wearing any sort of head covering this morning, which meant his dark curls gleamed in the morning sun.
Spending most of the day outdoors had darkened his skin, and he seemed well versed in physical labor if his lean, wiry build was any indication.
“Thank you for your help,” Zachary said. “I’ll take the things she suggested.” His dark brows pulled together. “I’m sorry I do not know your name.”
“Martha,” she said, “sister to Lazarus.”
She’d effectively stated her marital status by mentioning her brother instead of a husband.
“I’m Zachary, and my daughter is Claudia.”
“I know,” Martha said before she could think better of revealing what she knew about him. Besides, she sensed Josiah’s interest in their conversation, which meant she should probably take her leave and return to the suffering Naomi.
“Thank you, Josiah,” she said quickly, then took a final glance at Zachary. “Best wishes for your daughter’s recovery.”
Zachary’s gaze on her was not reticent in the least. In fact, if Leah or Mary had been with her, they would have surely remarked upon it. And what would they have said? Most likely that Zachary didn’t make his curiosity a secret.
As Martha hurried away from the market, the cloth bundle clutched in her hand, she wondered what Zachary was curious about. Her, specifically? Or about her family, about Lazarus? Her brother was one of the wealthier men in the village and hired extra men for seasonal work, and Zachary had given up his land inheritance to start over in Bethany.
Perhaps Zachary was looking for employment during his slower hours?
The main floor of the house was quiet when Martha returned. She’d find where Naomi had settled once the tea was ready.
As Martha bustled around the cooking room preparing the tea, she wondered about Zachary’s living quarters. Did he dwell in a tent like some of the other shepherds? Or did he have a more permanent hut? Did his daughter tend sheep all day with him? Did she have any friends to spend time with?
Did Zachary have to neglect his sheep to care for Claudia?
And what concern is it of mine? she chided herself. She carried the cup of tea up the stairs and found Naomi curled up in Mary’s bed, sound asleep.
“Leave her,” Mary said. “I can watch over her while I do my embroidery.”
Martha hesitated, then said, “All right. Have her drink this before it cools. Then she can keep sleeping.” She paused. “Other children in the village are ill. We might have a plague.”
Mary released the thread she’d been combing through. “I hope not. What about my betrothal banquet?”
“We must pray that all will go well.”