Martha
Martha hoped her explanation to Mary would be enough for now because she didn’t want to have to give too much information yet. She didn’t know herself what would happen exactly, but she knew Zachary’s daughter was very ill.
This morning, she’d gone to the market to pick up a few things when Josiah told her that Zachary had been back too. He’d taken his daughter to the village healer, but the healer refused to treat the young girl, saying there was nothing he could do because she had an unclean spirit inside of her. Josiah had provided another type of herb, yet he, too, was at a loss.
So Martha had hurried home to gather a few supplies, then searched for Mary, who was nowhere to be found. When Leah told her that Mary had been watching for Lazarus, Martha headed out of the house.
Now she was guiding her confused sister through the back streets of the village so that they wouldn’t be stopped and questioned. It wasn’t every day that Martha paid a visit to a widower, and she couldn’t do it alone.
Waiting for her brother to accompany her might be too late. She’d never seen Josiah so worried before.
“Martha, slow down,” Mary protested. “Where are we going?”
Martha paused, her breathing heavy, as she surveyed where they were exactly. They’d reached the first fields outside of Bethany. A copse of trees sat not too far off, and it was a location Martha knew was used by the shepherds for afternoon breaks from the hot sun. No one was there now because the winter sun remained distant.
She shifted her basket onto her other hip. “Remember the man who works for Eunice and Joel?”
“Zachary the widower?”
“Yes,” Martha said. “His daughter is very ill. The healer doesn’t think she’ll live much longer.”
Mary took a step back. “What if the disease is catching?”
Martha had considered that, of course. But she felt compelled to help. “You don’t have to come inside where they live. I just need you with me for propriety’s sake.”
Mary’s brow lifted, but then she nodded. “All right. Where do they live?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” Martha confessed. “I couldn’t very well ask around or rumors might start. So I was hoping to get this far and see a tent or a hut, then go from there.”
“Perhaps beyond the trees?” Mary suggested. “Or on the other side of that hill?”
Martha set off again, gripping the basket tightly so that she could transport some of her tenseness there. They trudged through the copse of trees, and to her surprise, they came upon a tent tucked into the hillside just down the slope.
“Is this his place?” Mary asked.
“I hope so.” Martha slowed her approach, looking for any evidence that a man and his daughter occupied the tent. It could belong to another shepherd entirely.
But then her attention was caught by the sound of crying. A young girl crying, to be exact.
Martha quickened her pace again, Mary keeping up, worry in her own expression.
“Zachary? Claudia?” Martha called when she stepped up to the tent flap that closed off the entrance. “It’s Martha, sister of Lazarus.”
The crying girl quieted, and the flap moved over to reveal a stooped Zachary as he peered out at them.
“Goodness, are you ill too?” Mary blurted out.
Martha’s voice was stuck somewhere in her throat. Zachary wore no turban, his dark curls were wild, and his face was shadowed with exhaustion. The sound of his daughter’s whimpers could be heard more clearly now.
“What are you . . . ?” Zachary’s gaze cut from Martha to Mary, then to the basket.
“I’ve come with some remedies for your daughter,” Martha said. “Josiah told me what the healer said.”
Zachary stepped out of the tent, straightening to his full height, and rubbed a hand over his face. “The healer says she is possessed and there is nothing he can do.” His dark eyes were like deep wells of pain. “If the healer can’t help her, I don’t think anyone can.”
Martha knew he wasn’t saying this to be patronizing because she recognized the hopelessness and grim acceptance in those dark eyes of his. Here was a man who had done all he could, yet it wasn’t enough.
“Martha knows more than the village healer,” Mary said. “She’s helped many people when the healer couldn’t.”
Martha’s chest expanded at the compliment, but it was hardly something to be proud of. She wasn’t trying to best a well-respected man.
“Is this true?” Zachary rasped, his tone holding the faintest bit of hope.
“It’s true.” Martha lifted her chin to fortify herself against any scrutiny despite the fact that her stomach clenched with doubt. “Although I don’t take credit. Prayers are also a big part of the healing process.”
Zachary’s eyes searched hers. “Are you going to tell me that my little girl’s suffering is God’s will?”
“No.” Martha stepped forward. “I do believe that God has given us herbs to use for our benefit, but He also expects us to have faith.”
Zachary closed his eyes and released a slow breath. When he opened his eyes again, they bore into Martha’s.
“Are you not afraid that my daughter is possessed?”
Martha’s chest hitched, but she kept her chin lifted. “I am not.”
Zachary’s shoulders visibly sagged. “I will do anything . . .” His voice cracked. “I will give you whatever you need in payment if you can help my daughter.”
“No payment necessary,” Martha said around a tight throat.
He stared at her for a moment, then stepped aside, holding open the tent flap. “Please come in.”
Martha glanced at Mary. “Alert me if anyone comes into sight.”
Mary nodded.
The interior of the tent was dim, but Martha’s eyes quickly adjusted. The one room was simply furnished. A single table contained the remains of a meal. There were no chairs, just a couple of ratty cushions. No platform bed but two mats; upon one was Claudia’s small form huddled beneath a rug.
The girl’s dark hair spilled across the mat below her, and her face was as pale as the winter moon. Her eyes were closed, and her delicate lids fluttered in her sleep. It was not the sleep of a healthy little girl but of someone who was experiencing pain and distress.
Zachary had followed her inside and now hovered a few feet behind her.
“What has she complained about?” Martha said in a quiet tone, not wanting to disturb the child yet. It was hard to believe how some could say an unclean spirit resided within this girl’s small body.
“She complains about pain in her stomach,” he said. “And she’s been crying in her sleep, so not even sleep has brought her relief. When she’s awake, it’s much worse. She says a lion is stalking her and trying to catch her.”
Martha exhaled. Either the girl was out of her mind or she was hallucinating because of her illness. “Can she keep food down?”
“Yes, but she refuses to eat.” Zachary gestured to the lone table and the meal remnants upon it.
“What have you fed her?”
“Bits of flatbread, some cooked vegetables, and boiled barley.”
Martha crossed to the table and set her basket upon it. Then she drew out an herbal root. “Can you start a cooking fire and heat up water for tea, then steep this root?”
“Of course.” Zachary headed to another opening in the tent, drew the flap aside, then stepped to where he had a cooking fire that needed to be stoked to life.
While he worked, Martha crossed to Claudia and knelt beside the child. Placing her hand on the girl’s forehead, Martha was pleased to find that it was clammy to the touch but not burning like she’d feared. Perhaps the worst of the fever had already passed?
Claudia stirred with a whimper, and Martha lifted her hand. When Claudia settled again, Martha drew the rug from her small body, gazing at the child’s limbs. Nothing seemed to be bruised or discolored. No sores dotted her arms or legs or feet. Her skin prickled with goose pimples at the temperature change, so Martha replaced the rug.
Noises from Zachary’s preparation of the tea were the only sounds in the tent. Martha felt Zachary’s gaze on her as she did the examination, but neither of them spoke, and there were no words needed.
Claudia’s lips were dry and starting to crack, and the skin about her eyes and mouth had taken on a slight yellow tinge.
Martha wanted to check one more thing. She gently pinched the skin between her neck and shoulder, and as Martha had suspected, the skin stayed pinched for a moment after release.
Claudia’s eyes fluttered open, but she didn’t make a sound. The child’s eyes seemed lackluster and not entirely focused.
Martha hadn’t even heard Zachary approach, but suddenly he was there, kneeling on the other side of his daughter.
“What do you think?” he whispered.
“She has no fever,” Martha said. “But she needs nourishment, even if we have to force-feed her.”
“She’s refused everything,” he said. “She’s bitten me when I’ve tried to feed her. I don’t see how we can get her to eat or drink.”
“We will do it for her.”
Zachary’s brows drew together. “How?”
Martha rose to her feet and brushed at her tunic. “Together.” She crossed to the table and drew out the boiled barley she’d brought from home and added more water to it from the goatskin inside the basket. She stirred the broth, making it very watery.
“The tea should be ready,” she told Zachary. “We’ll start with that.”
Zachary arose and fetched the pot of tea in which the root had been steeping. He poured the steaming liquid into a clay cup.
Martha held out her hand for the cup, and he gave it to her, their eyes connecting for a brief instant. Zachary’s gaze was full of questions and hope.
“You will hold her from behind and make sure she doesn’t try to knock away the cup or turn her head.”
“All right.” Zachary moved to the mat and knelt at the top of it, then drew his daughter into a half-sitting position, holding her against him.
Claudia’s eyes flew open. “No! No!” she cried out, struggling against her father’s grip.
“Don’t let her go,” Martha said in a sharp voice, although her hands were trembling.
Claudia began to jerk and kick, so Martha knelt over her legs. “Hold her arms.”
Zachary did so, but Claudia had started to thrash her head and cry.
Martha spoke louder than the girl’s crying. “You are very ill, Claudia,” she said. “Your body needs liquids or else you will not recover.”
Claudia fought against her father’s hold, but he was much stronger, especially with Martha there to support his actions.
Martha grasped the child’s chin with her hand. “Open your mouth, Claudia, and drink some tea.” In her other hand, the tea sloshed and spilled over the side of the cup. But that was only a small deterrent.
She tipped the cup, and part of the tea entered the girl’s mouth.
Claudia began to spit, but surely a little had gotten down her throat.
“Calm down, Claudia,” Martha said. “You need to drink more.”
“The lion is going to get me,” Claudia cried out, her eyes wild, her body thrashing.
“The lion can’t touch us,” Martha said. “Drink this, and he’ll go away.”
Claudia stilled for the briefest of moments. Martha used it to her advantage and poured more tea into her mouth. Claudia swallowed an entire mouthful. Then she started to thrash again.
“You’re doing better,” Martha said to both Claudia and Zachary. “The lion can’t get you if you drink this. It will repel him.” She tipped the cup again, keeping a firm hold of Claudia’s chin.
The young girl spat it out, but there had been progress at least. And Claudia’s strength was lessening.
“Release her for a moment,” Martha told Zachary.
He eased his grip, his own hands trembling from distress at having to hold his daughter down. Claudia sagged against her father, and Martha touched the girl’s cheek. “See, the lion has left.”
Claudia’s eyes searched about the tent.
“He’s not here anymore,” Martha said. “Drink more tea so he’ll stay away.”
Claudia opened her mouth and drank several swallows.
“Very good,” Martha said. “You’re a brave girl. Much braver than any lion I know.”
Claudia nodded, and her eyes slid shut, her body exhausted from all of her fighting.
“We’ll let her sleep now,” Martha said, backing away, then standing.
Relief etched across Zachary’s face as he settled Claudia onto the mat. He joined Martha at the table, where she placed a cloth over the bowl of broth. “It is too soon to try the broth,” she said. “But I’ll be back as soon as I can, and we’ll feed her more tea.”
She glanced at Zachary to see him gazing at her with astonishment.
“You’re coming back?”
“You can’t very well get her to eat or drink while she is still hallucinating,” Martha said. “It takes two adults. Do you have someone else to help?”
“No,” he said in a soft tone. “There is no one else.”
Martha gave a firm nod. “I’ll be back as soon as I am able. If she becomes lucid at all, give her more tea, but don’t try to force her until I return. She could hurt herself or you.”
Zachary only stared at her, his eyes intense.
“She is not possessed by an unclean spirit,” Martha said. “She is hallucinating, and that will go away once her illness passes. So do not fear, Zachary. All will be well. I will return before the sun sets.”
“You don’t know what this means to me. She’s only seven, and I cannot lose her so young.” Zachary’s throat worked, and he seemed about to tell her something more, but then he only said, “Thank you.”
The words were simple, and ones Martha had heard often all her life. But Zachary’s thank-you somehow struck Martha’s heart in a deep place she’d kept hidden since her husband’s death.
Once Martha was out of the tent, she inhaled the cool air. The child needed a lot of care, and she knew Zachary was still overwhelmed. Martha herself felt shaky at the experience, but she’d seen dehydration before, and she knew that hallucinations could result. The poor child was very ill, but there was a cure. It would just be agonizing to get through. But now, she had to return home to hear about her brother’s journey and to act like she wasn’t leaving a piece of her heart behind in this small tent.
“Martha,” Mary said, rising from her perch on a boulder. Her beautiful eyes were wide with curiosity. “What happened in there? Is she going to be all right?”
Martha told her sister her predictions. “I must come back in a few hours,” she said. “Will you come with me? Zachary can’t do this on his own.”
“Yes, I’ll come.”
The two sisters linked arms as they hurried back to the village before they were missed for too long.