The move to Sepphoris pleased everyone. The house was spacious and secluded. It was fronted by a charming courtyard enclosed by a wall of stones and a high wattle hedge. In its center was a fountain that supplied their water needs. Weeping fig trees dipped their branches to the ground to take new roots and shoot forth eager young saplings. In their arbors, Mary played, while her mother sat close by. Anna ignored all other duties in order to share these last months with her child.
Once Mary was weaned and learned to walk, Anna began daily lessons in Aramaic, prayers in Hebrew, and short readings from the Holy Scriptures. It was a joyous time for both of them.
One morning before breakfast, Mary surprised Joachim by telling him it was time to say the first prayer of the day. At the end of the meal, he asked her in jest what the first commandment was in the Scriptures. She answered with a giggle, “Be fruitful and multiply.” He was delighted.
“How long, Anna, have you drilled her to give this answer?”
“Obviously long enough to please you, Joachim. Ask her questions about the angels, and hear what she remembers.”
“Very well. Mary, who is the guardian angel of Israel?”
“Michael,” Mary answered without hesitation.
“Then who is Gabriel?”
Mary thought for a moment, then remembered, “The one who brings messages.”
“That’s right. He’s the leader of the archangels.” Joachim’s face grew grave and he cleared his voice. “One day, Gabriel will appear before you with a beautiful message. Will you remember that?”
Mary nodded dutifully. Then, to show off her wisdom, she said, “I learned today that you don’t plow with an ox and a donkey together. And you don’t graft an apple twig on a pear tree.” She paraded back and forth before Joachim, a happy smile on her childish face.
“Now here’s a question for you. Would you weave silk and cotton together in the same garment?”
Mary stopped short. She weighed the question as if her future depended on it. Then she answered, “Not if you don’t plow with a donkey and an ox together.”
Joachim lifted her high in the air before smothering her with kisses. When he put her down, he said to Anna, “You are doing more than making her a parrot for the examining committee. She already knows how to reason. I’m proud of both of you.”
“There’s still so much for her to learn.”
Mary spoke up immediately. “Don’t worry, Abba. I’ll just call on that angel who carries messages.”
“Yes, call on Gabriel if you don’t know the answer.”
Both parents grew silent, remembering their own encounter with the divine emissary of God. Anna whispered to Joachim, “Will he bring Mary the wondrous message we’ve waited for all our lives?”
“Of course. No one in heaven would have the heart to disappoint you two.” They both laughed.
* * *
It was a warm spring day with trees bursting into bloom when Joachim’s mountain pastures called for his return. Anna occupied herself with bathing Mary and washing her fine golden hair. She permitted neither Judith nor Hermana to perform these chores.
An unexpected knock on the front door brought Hermana to answer it. Before her stood a distraught woman, holding a baby covered with round patches of a fungus infection. Scaling skin and small blisters kept the infant crying.
The stranger spoke in a pleading voice, “My baby is dying from a skin ailment. He has had no sleep for days. Will Anna of Nazareth help me?”
“Come inside and wait,” Hermana said. “I will ask her to look at him.”
In a few minutes, Anna finished bathing Mary, dried her and turned her over to Hermana to dress. Then she went to the suffering child and took him in her arms.
“How did you happen to come to me for help?” Anna asked. “I have just moved here.”
“A Roman official passed me on the street and saw how desperate I was.”
Anna thought, “So Julian is testing my healing ability. I know I can’t cure everyone’s ailments, since the decision rests with God. All I can do is pray with all my might, with all my love.”
Then, as the stranger waited, an idea occurred to Anna. “I will set your son in my infant’s bath water. He’s so feverish it might help him. Please wait here.”
She placed the suffering boy in the unemptied receptacle used for Mary’s bath and splashed the water over his inflamed body for several minutes. As she did this, she formed a clear mental image of unblemished skin covering the child. Then she dried him, wrapped him in one of Mary’s blankets, and returned him to his mother.
She told her, “Keep this blanket over him for an hour. By then the round patches will be gone and he will be free of all pain.”
After the woman left, Hermana asked Anna, “Do you really believe you cured him? I think he was so exhausted, he just went to sleep from feeling the cool water.”
“Perhaps,” Anna replied, well aware of Hermana’s skepticism regarding unusual healing attempts.
However, the next day, the overjoyed mother returned with her son. “Aaron’s skin is free of blemish! There’s no rash, no pain, no scars! He slept peacefully all night. How can I thank you enough?”
Anna took the child in her arms and kissed him. “God loves you, little stranger,” she said to him. Then turning to the mother, she added, “I am grateful that you let me know he is well again. That is enough thanks.”
After they left, Anna mused out loud, “So Mary’s bath water has healing power. Can it be that she will become the mother of the greatest healer of all?”
Hermana asked, “Mother of whom?”
“Of a great son of her own,” Anna finished lamely, realizing she had almost said, “The Messiah.” She dared not reveal more to Joachim’s sister, since she was inclined to gossip, brag and exaggerate.
Anna had never been so busy. She spent all of her time drilling Mary on possible questions the rabbis might ask her before recommending her as one of the twelve. Anna’s own experience at the temple was invaluable in guessing what subjects they would cover.
Mary must learn the rigid dietary laws of her people: no meat and milk products to be eaten together; separate utensils, dishes and silver for each; a lapse of one hour’s time after eating meat before consuming dairy foods, one-half hour after eating dairy foods before one could eat meat, etc. But Mary was especially interested in the world of angels.
She asked her mother, “Will I ever see an angel?”
“Yes, one day Gabriel will come to you in human form. He will have wondrous wings of silver and carry a message that will change your life.”
“What if he gets old and dies before I see him?”
“Mary, angels never die.”
“When he comes to me, do I say, ‘Shalom, Archangel! What is your message?’”
Anna laughed. “My darling, you won’t be able to speak!”
* * *
The day after the celebration of Mary’s third birthday, the Essene examining committee was due.
Anna wished that Joachim were here, but he had left earlier to distribute the weekly donations of food to the poor. This ritual had always been carried out by Sobe, but after Ezra’s death and their move to Sepphoris, Sobe had not communicated with them. This depressed Anna immensely, but, for the moment, she had more important things to do than pursue a jealous sister.
The examiners were dressed like triplets. Each wore an unbleached wool tunic gathered at the waist by an embroidered girdle. Tasseled prayer shawls covered their heads, and, on their left hands and foreheads, leather thongs held firm their tefillin—those small leather cases containing passages from Exodus and Deuteronomy, inscribed on parchment. Their sandals of camelhide were the same as everyone’s. Anna was pleased that no special clothing was worn to impress her three-year-old with the seriousness of the occasion.
Now Anna called Mary and met her at the door. She took Mary’s hand and brought her before each rabbi for an introduction. A surprised murmur went through the group at the sight of the beautiful child. Mary did not smile, but acknowledged each with a deep bow.
Seth, the leader of the gang, promptly cleared his throat and said, “We promise to be brief. Mary, be seated and look upon us as friends who have come here only to get acquainted with you. Your ancestry is pure—a direct line from King David, so there is no question as to your eligibility. Let me begin by asking you what the most important food of all is.”
Mary jumped from her chair and stood straight. “Bread,” she answered softly.
“That’s right. I see a table beyond this room, obviously in the cooking area. Is that where you eat?”
“Yes.”
“Should we consider the table just a piece of furniture or something greater?”
“No, it is a symbolic altar of God.”
Anna breathed a sigh of relief, since she had drilled Mary long on the word “symbolic.”
Uriah continued the questioning. “You have beautiful long curls. Why doesn’t your mother cut your hair?”
Mary thought a moment before answering. “That would show someone had died.”
“Correct. It is a sign of mourning.
He asked, “If we pray to God for help, does he come in person?”
Mary looked startled by the question. She thought it over then said, “He never has.”
“Then you’ve prayed to Him for help?”
“Yes, but I ask Him to send an angel, since I know He’s so busy.”
“In order to speak to this angel, what is most important that you feel?”
“Feel? Why, only a love of God.”
The men exchanged delighted smiles, and Uriah indicated that it was Lemuel’s turn to interrogate her.
“Mary, do you believe that one day you will meet God face to face?”
“No, we can’t see Him.”
“If you can’t see Him, where is God?”
She gave him a mischievous smile. “He hides in my heart.”
“That’s the best answer I’ve ever heard. He lies within our own selves. A final question, Mary. What is the greatest gift God can give us when we go to the heaven-world?”
“You mean when we die?”
Seth nodded. She thought a long time and looked to her mother for help. Anna smiled her encouragement.
“Oh, I know what you mean. It’s the gift of forever-and-ever life.”
“That’s correct—eternal life.” He turned to the other rabbis. “This child is so extraordinary, there’s no need to question her further.”
The other men nodded in agreement. Each in turn rose and embraced Mary. Seth spoke for all. “Congratulations to both of you. Anna, you have taught her well. She may begin her life in the Essene community at once.”
Anna waited until the men were gone before she let her emotions show. Then she burst into tears. Her pride in Mary’s answers could not overcome her sadness. Once Mary left for Mount Carmel, she might never return to her parents. Preparations must be made at once for the family’s journey to the Essene community and Mary’s formal presentation. These activities would, Anna hoped, lessen the pain of her departure.
In the weeks that followed, Anna was besieged with mothers whose children were ailing. They begged her to place their offspring in Mary’s bath water, each waiting her turn with a crying infant. She regretted having begun this ritual. Finally, she was forced to stop bathing the strangers in order to prepare Mary for her presentation.
Hermana, who had married one of Joachim’s shepherds but spent much of her time with Anna, was a fine seamstress and agreed to create three sets of garments for Mary. Each one consisted of an undergarment, a bodice and a robe in different colors to signify special meanings, according to ecclesiastical ritual.
The day for the family’s departure for Mount Carmel came too soon for both parents, but they successfully hid their grief from their daughter. Mary seemed aglow with anticipation, but at the same time, she sensed her parents’ sadness.
* * *
Obadiah, Joachim’s manservant, led the donkey on which Mary rode. He had devised a comfortable seat with footrests for her. Although each person had an animal to ride, walking often was more satisfactory. Hermana and Judith took charge of the pack animals, laden with clothing and food. Joachim appeared unstable on his feet at times and used a rod to support himself.
There were hills to climb and streams to cross before reaching their first night’s lodging at Endor. Frequent stops were made where balsam shrubs grew. The dripping sap, when caught in stone basins, was diluted with water and quickly revived the weary travelers. Also, the servants found ripe berries, and with flat cakes of dark bread and aged cheese, no one went hungry.
Mary never complained of fatigue, although the others frequently did. She appeared to be mentally preparing for her presentation to the Essene community and said nothing. Only when Anna washed her flushed face did she smile her appreciation.
On the second evening, the party camped at Bethhoron. It was a Levite town where they had agreed to join Esmeria and her husband, Ephraim. Late in the evening, Cleophas and his two daughters also arrived there. Joachim’s youngest brother, Salamo, sent word that he and his wife would find the party in the city. Anna had dispatched an invitation to Sobe to meet the others here, but she had heard nothing from her.
During the last half of the journey, Cleophas supported unsteady Joachim often and kept a close watch on him at all times. He had little opportunity to speak to Anna, but she sensed his desire to do so.
The travelers crossed several stone bridges that spanned valleys within the city and made their way to the ceremonial inn, which Joachim had rented for this occasion. There was a large room for cooking on the hearth and serving meals. A private courtyard opened onto comfortable, adjacent sleeping rooms.
Obadiah unloaded the pack animals, and the men carried bags of clothing and food into the central structure. The men and women broke into two groups for washing their feet, then came together at the large basin of water set out for washing hands and face.
At this time, Mary’s cousin, Elizabeth, and Elizabeth’s husband, Zacharias, arrived from Joppa, and the party took on a festive air. They all hurriedly changed clothes and joined each other in the courtyard to walk to the community room, farther up the hill, for the initial ceremony.
Mary was enchanted by the bewildering events and, especially, by her new clothes. She was dressed in a pale orange undergarment with white bodice and burnt-orange robe. On her head sat a white silk wreath, decorated with orange roses, and a short veil that tickled her nose.
“Do I really look pretty?” she asked, pirouetting before Anna.
“Yes. Don’t you hear the angels clapping their hands? Now, I must show you how to lift your veil before you eat. It must be done in one gesture, using both hands. Make it look as if you were accustomed to wearing a veil every day.”
Mary laughed, anticipating eagerly each part of the elaborate ritual. “Do it slowly, Emi.”
Anna went through the motions twice, then said, “Now, it’s your turn.”
Mary tossed the sheer fabric back onto her head with a determined sweep of her hands.
Anna laughed. “No more practice. A rabbi waits for us in the dining hall.”
When the family gathered around him, he announced, “I am Axel, and beside me is Naomi, the widow who will be in charge of our new virgin. You women will eat over there to my right, and the men to my left. Mary is to sit next to me, since I have a few questions to ask her.”
Naomi, who appeared to be kind and understanding, came and sat next to Anna. She hoped this teacher would be gentle with her sensitive daughter and protect her from difficult work as she grew older.
She noticed that Mary ate little, taking care to select only those foods she ate at home. Anna had warned her that the rabbis would test her on unacceptable combinations. She must avoid milk, and, if she took meat, then she mustn’t eat fish. It was a lot to remember.
Mary had responded, “I’ll eat neither, and make the rabbis guess what I’ll do.”
Now, by the pleased look on Axel’s face, Anna knew Mary had passed this first test. He rose and clapped his hands for quiet.
“You’ll have the balance of the day for rest and a chance to get acquainted with family members. Have an early breakfast tomorrow, as we begin the ceremonies midmorning.”
Everyone left for the inn to visit. Sobe, to everyone’s surprise, stood waiting for the party at the inn. Anna greeted her with caution, but Sobe acted as if nothing had occurred between them to strain their relations.
She spoke first and with a touch of arrogance. “I knew someone was needed to cook for this gathering, so I will take charge of the meals.”
Anna smiled. “I deeply appreciate your being here, Sobe. Make good use of Judith and Hermana, else they will feel hurt. After the ceremony tomorrow, Mary will leave us, and we will come back here for a banquet. There will be much for all of us to do.”
Anna looked around for Mary, and found her with Cleophas on the opposite side of the room. “You must take a nap, darling,” she said to the child. Judith spoke then, “Let me go with her, Anna. I have many things I want to say to her.”
Anna nodded her approval, then turned to Cleophas. “I thought you’d have married by now. We’ve missed your visits.”
He responded by taking her arm and conducting her outside, where they sat down on a bench in the courtyard.
“What a sacrifice you’ve made, Anna,” he said. “I believe she will be happy here. She appears more like a child of five or six.”
“Thank you for being so supportive. I always wanted a brother, but now I think of you in that way—caring, always ready to help.”
Cleophas remained silent, so Anna asked him bluntly, “Why haven’t you remarried by now. It has worried Joachim.”
“I haven’t found the right Essene, Anna, so I will remain single until I do. I’ve wondered, if Joachim should die in the years ahead, would you remarry?”
Anna felt a strange quickening of her pulse. She chose her words carefully. “I have never thought of such a situation. I’m past forty years of age—certainly not attractive to a man who wants children.”
Cleophas placed his hand over hers, and she tried to curb her slight trembling. “You are more beautiful than I have ever seen you, yet you are making a great sacrifice. Other parents would be feeling sorry for themselves. Not you and Joachim. How do you give up a child after waiting for her for half a lifetime?”
“One must keep promises made to God.”
Cleophas, seeing that Hermana beckoned to Anna to come indoors, spoke hurriedly, “I’m concerned about Joachim. He appears ill with shock and more. Would you mind if I travel back to Sepphoris with you to make certain he can complete the journey?”
“Oh, would you, Cleophas? How thoughtful of you!” She flashed him a warm smile and joined Hermana.
He left the inn to walk through the residential area, where the thick-walled houses were built on terraced streets.
Cleophas had mixed emotions. He was worried over Joachim’s pallor and deep grief over Mary’s departure. Cleophas also knew he was in love with Anna, but his feelings toward his brother’s wife must remain hidden. Had he been too obvious in what he said to her just now? He was a romantic person with an active imagination; so was Anna. They had grown in the same direction, both adopting the beliefs of the married Essenes. He, too, accepted miracles as everyday, normal occurrences and spoke of angels as if they lived next door to him. This alienated him from his Pharisee relatives.
Deep in thought, he nearly collided with a Roman in white toga on the narrow street. He stepped aside to let the official pass, but the man spoke to him.
“You are a member of the group celebrating the new temple virgin, Mary bat Joachim?” he asked.
“Yes, and who are you?”
“Julian, legate to Galilee. I know the family well, having lived in Nazareth near them. Can you tell me at what time the formalities will take place?’
“Midmorning, I understand.” Cleophas guessed that this was the Roman whom Sobe had mentioned to him on her ill-fated visit to Shiloh. He was everything she claimed him to be—conceited and radiating enormous power. The clean-shaven face, the piercing green eyes, the short curly hair, and the rings on many fingers gave him an air of self-importance bordering on majesty. He hesitated as if he wanted to say more, then appeared to think better of it, and went on his way.
Cleophas wondered if he should mention this encounter to Anna, but he felt an unexplained jealousy of the Roman and decided against it.
* * *
The following morning, eleven young virgins in pastel dresses came to the inn to escort Mary to the temple. Each wore a garland of flowers about her neck.
Mary was dressed in her special costume for the presentation ceremony. It was the color of hyacinths, with a silk bodice and deep-purple velvet robe that ended in a short train. A gold, silk crown, embroidered with pearls, held a medium-length veil on her blond head.
Two priests met the girls and took charge of Mary. One of them asked her, “Will you rise each night to pray?”
Mary nodded eagerly.
“Just once a night for now. Later you may be asked to rise three times.”
Anna and Joachim, who followed Mary, exchanged angry looks. Were they trying to frighten the child?
Naomi now joined the parents, saying, “I’m sure you will want to see Mary’s room.”
They descended the stairs into the subterranean section, where the praying cells were located. From there, stairs led to small cubicles built in the thick walls.
“This room is Mary’s for as many years as she remains here,” Naomi said.
Inside was a roll of carpet which would become Mary’s bed, and a small cupboard for her clothes. A lamp, set in a niche in the wall, gave out a feeble light.
Anna placed the bundle of Mary’s clothes on a table and debated where to set the jug of terebinth water. Joachim placed a sack of fruit on the floor and walked out. He was too overcome with shock to remain in these crude surroundings. But Mary showed no emotion. Her mother had prepared her well.
The rabbi led the group as they left the outer court to climb a broad flight of stairs to the inner walled area known as the Court of Women. Here the ceremony would take place.
The priests directed the men to stand on one side and the women on the other. Cleophas and Salamo stood beside Joachim, ready to support him if necessary. Essene women, in long, white robes with wide sleeves and rope girdles, directed the family where to stand, since room had to be allowed for the musicians. They were young boys dressed also in white, carrying either a flute, woodwind, or stringed instrument.
The young virgins sang a psalm, accompanied by the musicians, then a priest led Mary up the fifteen steps to the altar. The steps represented the six orders of the saints and the nine choirs of the angels.
The priest, resplendent in white, entered and moved to the altar. His heavy garment reached to the floor in three cascades. The center overlay was fringed with tassels; the upper garment was embroidered with the jeweled Urim and Thummin—that dazzling breastplate needed for divination. It was said to be used by the priest to determine God’s response to questions answerable by “yes” or “no.”
Mary’s expression was one of total wonder as she looked at his mitered crown of white satin, encircled by a gold plate inscribed with Hebrew letters. He lifted her onto the third step of the altar, where she danced a few steps in delight.
The Priest smiled, “You look upon my headdress with interest. Can you read the inscription?”
Mary said softly, “Holiness to the Lord.”
“Excellent! Another question: Should we hate people who are not of our faith?”
Again Mary replied without hesitation, “No, that is a cardinal sin.”
The priest appeared to be hard-pressed for an appropriate question to ask such a young child. Then he spoke in an encouraging tone, “Can you recite our most revered prayer, the Shema?”
Mary nodded eagerly and turned to face the audience. In her clear, sweet voice, she began the holy words: “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One! And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul and with all thy might.” She hesitated and looked down to her mother. Anna nodded her encouragement. Mary took a deep breath and continued, “And these words which I command this day shall be upon thy heart; and thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children …” She paused to catch her breath. The priest whispered, “and shalt talk of them …” Mary continued faster and faster, “when thou sittest in thy house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up.”
The delighted priest turned to the audience, lifting his hands high as all responded loudly, “Hoshahnah!” He embraced Mary, while the choir played triumphant music. The relatives moved toward Mary to congratulate her. Joachim was the first to reach her and lifted her in his arms. His voice broke with emotion as he said, “Remember at night the words of the psalmist which we recited together, ‘In thee, O Lord, do I put my trust; for thou art my rock and my fortress.’ Oh, blessed daughter, into God’s arms I commit you with such love. You will never know—such love I have for you.”
Mary said nothing, but she clung to him with eyes closed, as he kissed her cheeks. By now, Anna had reached her, and she fought back threatening tears, saying, “I will come to visit you as soon as it is permissible. If there’s anything you need or want, send us a message by Naomi. She will learn to love you as we do. You look so beautiful today, and you were wonderful in remembering everything. We are all so proud of you.”
Naomi, dressed in white veil and long, white robe, took Mary’s hand and pulled her away from the group. “We must go now,” she said.
Cleophas held Joachim’s arm, realizing the strain had been great on him. Anna stood with eyes closed, remembering the anguish of her own parting from her mother when she was left at the temple in Jerusalem. She was five, not three. The other women left her alone and returned to the inn. She returned to the entrance. Here she stood in sober remembrance of her reunion with Joachim, following his long absence in the desert, when she thought she was a widow.
Someone touched her shoulder, and she turned to face the intense gaze of Julian. “At last, we meet again,” he said in a quiet voice. “It’s been nearly three years, and I’ve counted the days.”
Anna flushed with surprise, but managed to ask, “Is Salina here, too?”
Before answering, Julian indicated they should move away from the steps, to a more quiet spot.
“She stayed in Rome. She wanted to be out of her father’s reach. We were divorced, and with the help of Augustus, I found a fine position for her as a nurse in the home of a noble family. They had a child who stammered badly, and she wanted to help them as you had her.”
“I’ll miss her. I loved her very much.”
“I know. She asked to be remembered to you. In fact, she sent you a small gift.” He handed Anna a book bound in blue leather. “You read Latin, I know.”
Anna saw it was a book of poetry by Virgil.
Julian continued, “They are pastoral sketches, full of love. Everyone, whether fool or philosopher, writes poetry in Rome now.” He seemed embarrassed for a moment, then explained, “Augustus has built two public libraries since I was last there. He intends to make the city the rival of Alexandria, and Herod now wants a library in Caesarea. I have drawn up plans for it. I learned a great deal during my work in Sidon and Tyre. Herod was especially interested in the construction of their Greek buildings. He wants to be more than King of the Jews, Anna. By expanding his role into Phoenicia, he aims to become the idol of the Hellenic world—a second Caesar Augustus.” He laughed cynically. “I doubt if he’ll realize those schemes. Wherever I go I hear of plots against his life.”
Julian moved closer to Anna as he continued, “I need to return to Galilee, where there are no marvels of architecture or edifices of white stone. But there are greater marvels to be found there—like you, Anna.”
She was prepared for his flattery and answered in a quiet voice, “I include you in my daily prayers, Julian, hoping you’ll discover your real purpose in life. I’m certain that, one day, something meaningful, something totally wonderful will happen to you.” She turned to leave him, adding, “Thank you for driving all sense of desolation from my thoughts. You, too, can be a magician, when you want to.”
They both laughed at her remark. Julian said, “Until we meet in Sepphoris, Anna bat Stolan.”
She walked slowly down the path to the inn, stopping once to look again at the lovely book of verse. Had Julian really changed that much, or did he hope to weaken her defenses? He had gotten rid of his wife, yet he didn’t appear to be a free man. He was bound to a dream of marrying her one day.
Her thoughts returned to Mary. She was surprised that her daughter had shown no grief at leaving them. This had greatly upset Joachim. Did Mary subconsciously know her mission in life? Was the gift of stoicism given her so that, in decades hence, she could face enormous tests? Or were Anna and Joachim deluding themselves in thinking that God had selected Mary to bring into fruition the dreams of every Israelite?
The answer to these questions, Anna knew, remained shrouded in mystery. She forced herself to be happy today and was especially grateful for Sobe’s efficient presence. Esmeria spent her time in gossiping and took no interest in lighting candles or setting food on the table.
Sobe, with chameleon-like ingenuity, played the role of a charming housewife today, obviously for the benefit of Cleophas. She hummed as she worked; she fairly skipped from one chore to another. She directed Anna’s two servants with gentleness, and, for once, her hair was tastefully arranged. A new, pink silk robe, with wide girdle, revealed her trim waistline—to the envy of buxom Esmeria and the other aging wives.
If Cleophas was impressed, he didn’t show it, so preoccupied was he with taking care of Joachim. But Sobe lost no time in making other plans when she overheard Anna say to him, “Joachim has begun to run a fever. I’m worried about getting him home, but I’m relieved that you’ll be with us.”
Sobe stepped quickly to Anna. “You and Cleophas won’t mind if I travel home with you?”
“You’re welcome, but I don’t know how fast we can go with Joachim. He’s extremely weak.”
“No matter, sister. Cleophas and I will lessen your burden.” She took him by the arm in a possessive gesture.
His face was a mask as he said, “We’ll take good care of both of you, Anna.”