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Category:
Historical Fiction
Publisher: PuckettBrowne Publishing
Type: Fiction
Copyright: July 1, 2017
ISBN-13: 9780977765201
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
e-Book, biblical fiction, publication date July 1, 2017.
Mary left home in a decision that shattered her family. She accepted her Messiah in a dramatic act of love.
1. Martha, a responsible and popular hostess finds herself shunned for her sister’s sin, forsaken by her husband, and no longer marriageable. Mary appears at her door afraid for her life. Can Martha forgive?
2. After Lazarus follows Jesus, his sisters watch him sicken and die. Stunned, they witness the Lord call him from the tomb. Then the Sanhedrin (Jewish government) decree a price on his head. They can’t allow this proof of the power of God. Will he follow the Apostles in martyrdom?
Mary of Bethany left home in a decision that shattered her family. She accepted her Messiah in a dramatic act of love, but Jesus doesn't always protect us from consequences.
Did responsible, staid Martha lose all hope of husband and children because of her sister's past? Did that past stand between her and the man who loved her? Could she forgive Mary?
How did Lazarus and Martha cope with the new creation back home?
How did Lazarus live with the price on his head?
Mary, Martha, and Lazarus were real, flawed people. They laughed, they hurt, and Jesus called them friends. Walk with them through the most important decade in history.
Excerpt
Martha: I watched the young girl in horrified fascination. I longed to march across the street, grab her and drag her home. But I stood transfixed.
Sandaled feet milled around me in the marketplace. I took no notice. Men and women shuffled down the bricks of the walk. Noisy drivers in the roadway snapped whips and clicked their tongues over the sounds of donkey hooves. I might have been alone.
Mary wore the standard frontlet of a harlot. It circled her skull and dropped in a V on her forehead--her name embroidered on it. Heavy gold rings weighted her hands. They glinted in the sunlight as she reached toward the men who passed. She smiled an invitation.
The slight frame of the tiny woman identified the child I scolded and raised. She lured her prospect with her brown--nearly black--eyes, rimmed in curling lashes. Though I wasn‘t near enough to see them I remembered those lashes. The immodest garment exposed her figure. A man nodded. She took his arm and they left..
Sickened, I turned, the weight of my pain a millstone on my heart.
In memory, a tiny girl sat on a stool before me as I combed her long hair. It now hung to the middle of her back, defiled by scissors or knife. Lights jumped and glittered from jeweled braids. She wore no head cover.
I looked toward heaven, grateful my parents joined their ancestors long ago.
A sedate scarf bound the heaviness of my curls against my neck as law and custom dictated. A thin blue veil trailed across my back and arms. As I walked away, I lifted my head and thrust my shoulders back. I greeted any woman who smiled. Many may shun me but no one will pity me.
Jemima walked past and smiled. “Shalom Martha, how beautiful the sky this evening.”
Bless dear Jemima, my husband’s wife. Her full lips always smiled. The hips on her wide body moved from side to side with each step. She towered over me as she passed.
I walked toward home; hips motionless, back straight. Lazarus will want supper soon.
***
Chapter 1: Mary Left
Martha: The day Mary left dawned with sunshine. Crimson centered white lilies, and red windflowers gleamed from their places in the entrance. My spirit lifted with the promise of pleasant weather.
Two mornings before, Mary celebrated her sixteenth birthday. Now I sent her to the market for necessities we didn’t grow or raise. Flushed cheeks hinted at excitement. Why? What did she plan? Why didn’t I ask? Mary never welcomed questions. She stiffened and walked away. She wrapped her thoughts around her with a “keep out” sign reflected in her face.
When she left, she wore a scarf, coins hung from the edges. They showed her availability for betrothal. Despite her beauty, no one asked my husband, Hamel, for permission to wed her.
Five hours later I paced between the fire pit, and the courtyard entrance. Frantic, I gazed at the street, awaiting her return. A respectable Jewish girl must come home before dark. Sunset changed to nightfall with no sign of her.
At the ninth hour, Lazarus followed Hamel through the door.
I lunged at them. “Mary left for the market hours ago. She didn’t come home. What can we do?”
Lazarus put his arm across my shoulders. “She met a friend. Remember how distracted she gets. Here. Hamel and I will bring her home.”
Hamel nodded and smiled. He took my hand and rubbed it. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll find her.”
They rushed through the door so near their sandals skidded against each other. They returned hours later, dejected. The ebony night blinded them and hunger distracted them.
Lines marked my brother’s forehead, brows puckered.
Hamel crossed the room to the table. “No one has seen her. I’m hungry. Please forgive me. I must eat.”
“Your food is ready.” I took the dishes, kept warm on the fire pit, and placed them in front of Hamel.
“I pray she stayed with a friend. The village gossips don‘t need grist for their blather.“ Lazarus slumped on his stool. “We’ll rest and try again tomorrow.”
I stared. What do the villagers say?
***
Chapter 2: Mary Regrets
Mary: Martha barely noticed me when I left. I carried the clothes I wanted to take in an apron under my tunic, tied around my knees. She didn’t even see my awkward walk.
I saw her lonely marriage. I saw when she accepted a betrothal from a man who she didn’t know. I understood how much she didn’t want to--how he ignored her, just like Father. No one would betroth me. I took the scarf with coins off my head as soon as I moved far enough from the house so they wouldn’t see me.
Free. Finally Free. I longed to escape the stifling life of my family. I loved Lazarus and Martha and hated to hurt them, but they didn’t understand. They spent their time working and going to the synagogue to worship a God I couldn’t believe in--a God who stole my mother when I needed her and then sent that other woman--a bad joke. I spent my time as far from her as I could.
Father pretended to love us while Mother lived but when she died he didn’t bother to pretend.
I talked to Gersham and LaRue’s girls each time I went to market. They bragged of having money and clothes and being taken care of. I wanted to have those things too. I wanted to have fun and clothes and wealth.
Gersham, LaRue's son waited for me today. Only a few years older than me, he recruited the girls. I met him at the Marketplace. Then he took me to LaRue’s place. I met the girls as we sat and talked. Apparently they work at night. I’ll have a day or two to settle in before they tell me what my work will be. I met two huge, frightening young men who spend all their time with Gersham.The girls welcomed me and acted friendly. None of them have families so I suppose they use the group as family.
While we talked, I heard of what happened to him as a boy. That’s when he made friends with the men. The girls sat in night tunics until later when they dressed for work. I wondered if I would have to wear such clothes. They were not what I liked, garish, loud and not much there.
They all went out about seventh hour and came back with men who they took to their rooms. I thought that was odd.
While they were out, LaRue taught me how she wanted me to make up--heavy makeup and scarlet lips. I began feeling uncomfortable and wondered if I could go back home
But the next day, Lazarus and Hamel came. I knew I could never go back. Hamel looked like he wanted to kill me.
That night Gersham showed me what I must do. The Law didn’t allow everything. Strangely, though it wasn’t respectable, the law allowed harlotry. Without the laws, I supposed in some places it could be worse.
I cried in my covers each night for several months, but eventually got used to it. I felt numb toward the men. Probably Martha’s marriage to Hamel was not worse than this.
Chapter 3: Lazarus and Hamel Search for Mary
Lazarus: I sat at the table with Hamel. Martha laid lentil soup and fish at my place, and I ate without noticing. My attention stayed on the entrance. Mary will walk through at any moment. I prayed in silence.
I slept little that night. In my thoughts wild animals tore my little sister apart or her body lay in the street, the victim of chariot wheels. When I comforted Martha with the comment that Mary met friends and forgot the time, the words didn’t comfort me. She should have come home by now.
The next morning, before sunrise, Hamel and I threw on our mantles, and hurried to the Marketplace. I asked everyone I met if he or she saw Mary this morning. No one must guess she didn’t come home. Every merchant denied seeing her.
Storekeeper, Bela, arranged his wares on the table. He shifted his gaze from the raisin cakes sitting there to the ground. “I saw her.” He moved the cakes, still unwilling to meet my eyes. “She stood with Gersham, and left with him.”
“No. It can’t be.” I stared at him, unable to believe his words.
“You asked. I told.” He turned his back, ending the conversation.
Surely Gersham kidnapped her. She didn’t go by choice.
I found Hamel, and we ran toward the house of harlots owned by LaRue, mother to Gersham. Gersham stood in the entrance. His two large friends hovered behind him, arms folded across their huge chests, a human wall. Mary stood looking through their arms--her eyes outlined with kohl, lips rouged bright red, and hair braided. She made no move or gesture to us, the innocent garb she usually wore gone. I stared to recognize her. My sister lurked in this harlot.
“Mary. Why are you doing this?“ Hamel’s livid face shone with perspiration. Air whistled between his teeth as he spoke, a nervous tic.
She turned, and walked in the house.
We stood stone-like as we watched her go. Grief and anger overwhelmed me. I longed to kill the man standing before me who defiled my sister.
Gersham gazed at us through slitted eyes, one blue, inherited from the Roman who visited his mother one day, the other hazel. The eyes told the story of the day on the road when big boys beat the smaller boy. One poked a sharp stick in his eye. The young devils punished him for his mother‘s profession. They only stabbed the circle of color, missing the black center. His vision survived, but the hazel eye didn’t return to blue. Gersham went nowhere alone after that. He found two large young boys as troubled as he, and they became inseparable. Now they protected him from us.
Later if we met Mary in public, we turned our backs to her. She slid past us with face turned toward the ground, or walked across the street.
A week after our encounter with Gersham, I came home to see Martha sitting on the bench in the courtyard, shoulders bent. Martha never rested during the day. Her hands always stirred pots, and made bread. Her feet always ran to finish her work.
As I moved closer, I heard her sob. She dabbed at her eyes with a cloth.
“Martha! What happened?”
“Hamel gave me a bill of divorce.”
My chin dropped. “What?”
“He gave me a bill of divorce. The council will expel him as leader with a harlot in the family, so he separated himself from the family.”
“I can’t let this happen.” I determined to find Hamel. “He will listen to me.”
Martha lowered her crumpled cloth. Red eyes scanned my face. As rage engulfed me, her eyes widened.
I heard the fright in Martha’s voice as I charged through the door. “Lazarus, he treated you as his son.”
***
Chapter 4: Remembering The Early Days
Martha: As children, our home rang with laughter. My parents loved us. But just before my twelfth birthday, Mother lay in bed for the seventh day. I never saw her in bed until then. She always worked past our bedtime and rose before us. I couldn’t prove she slept. My stomach ached when I imagined my beloved mother unable to rise. Cursed stomach. Must it react to every worry?
Sunlight warmed the bench where I sat as I played with my friend, Jasmina, on the roof. I patted a mud patty in the shape of a fish, and laid it on the stone I used for my fire pit. Invisible bread and lentil soup cooked.
Mother cooked lentil soup daily. The scent welcomed everyone who entered. Now her deep fire pit stood unused, covered by a square of oiled canvas. No fragrance of soup filled the air. Neighbors brought dinner, but no one cooked as well as my mother.
Jasmina, tireless, animated, jumped to her feet. “Prissy, Junia! Stop arguing or I will send you to bed.” Her pretend children obeyed without hesitation.
Dissatisfied with her too-good ghost children, she ran to Mary as she played. “Come, be my little girl, Mary.”
Mary waved her away, rapt in her game. She took the sewing bag Mother used and wrapped fabric around herself, gazing in Mother’s mirror in admiration. I imagined Mother scolding Mary if she knew. The folded cloth she wove lay ready for the seller, Navid, to add to his table at the market.
Momma spent hours teaching me to wind the thread. My small fingers didn’t pull the fine strands to match her work. “You’ll get better. You will become a fine weaver.”
I did get better. I hope she knew.
The faint mooing and baaing of calves and sheep rose from the animal pen in the corner of the courtyard below.
My tiny, usually energetic, mother lay sick. She developed a cough, and caught her breath as she struggled to breathe. Her legs no longer held her. The physician’s helper guarded her from us, forbidden to enter her room.
Bobeshi (grandmother) stayed with us to help, but she complained of maladies, proudly describing each ache. “Wait until you get old. Every bone will hurt.” She planned to end her visit soon.
As Jasmina and I played, I saw Father climbing the stairs. He dragged himself toward us, bent as though pulling a boulder on a rope tied to his back. My stomach knotted. He looked weary, the skin under his eyes dark, his thin body skeletal. Lazarus trailed him.
Unease filled me. Why did Father take Lazarus from school before the end of his classes?
Father adored Mother. He gave her whatever she wanted, though she didn’t ask for much. A small man, Father’s smile, visible through his beard, revealed his love for us.
“My beautiful Martha. Soon no one will recognize you. They will mistake you for your mother.” His prejudiced eyes didn’t realize I resembled him. Mary’s nose copied Mother. My nose reflected a smaller version of his. People called our twin bumps regal.
“Lazarus will surpass me as a wheel-maker. You did a perfect wheel today, son. But what donkey can carry such a large chariot? We will work on getting the size right tomorrow. I should not leave you alone. I expect too much.”
“Mary, my baby. Come sit on my knee.”
Watching this troubled man now walking toward us, I returned to the moment, my daydreams of the past gone.
“Jasmina, go home now. Martha will play with you later.” Father’s hand guided her toward the steps. Jasmina bounced on each one.
Father told us to sit on the bench, and we took our places. “Your mother sleeps with her ancestors.”
“What do you mean?“ Mary asked.
“Your mother died. She’s gone.” He said nothing more. He turned and descended the stairs to the covered tent in the courtyard where he kept the materials for his wheels.
We sat dumbfounded.
Only six, my little sister wailed. “I want my momma." She clung to my waist. I towered over the others as the firstborn. Lazarus, ten, put his arms around us. I patted them, but my mind felt numb. How could I comfort her and Lazarus when every sense cried out, “I want my momma.”
I never felt more alone. We cried huddled together, no one to comfort us. What did this mean to us?
Without mother, who will care for us?
***
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