“The sea was calm when we bartered for the fishing boat to take us back to Magdala. Nathan thought we could take a chance and make it home. We had only been at sea for a short time when the storm clouds rolled out over the water and the waves began to whip up from the wind. I wanted to turn back, but Nathan felt we were only going a short distance and he was anxious to get home.”
Mary’s eyes filled with tears as he paused. She knew Nathan was trying to get back to her as he promised.
Amos went on. “The boat was not as sturdy as the one we delivered to the merchant, but we worked hard to take the sail down in the wind and bailed with a clay pot the fisherman had on board. It wasn’t enough. One large wave, almost the height of the top of the mast, slammed into the boat. The mast snapped like a mere twig. Nathan tried to get out of the way, but there was nowhere to go. In an instant it struck him and he fell overboard into the sea. I dove in after him, knowing he was wounded, and just then another wave broke the boat up completely and swept the fisherman and Levi into the sea. I never saw them again. Nathan had somehow grasped a plank from the boat and we both clung to it, I kept hold of him as best I could. As suddenly as the storm came up, it passed on and the sea calmed. A merchant ship had made it through the storm. They spotted us and somehow managed to pluck us from the sea.” He paused, shaking his head. “The rest you know.”
She listened to his words, picturing the storm in her mind and the men’s struggle to save the boat. She nodded slowly. “Thank you, Amos.”
Just then Beriah came, his face a picture of silent agony as he saw his son. He put a hand on Nathan’s shoulder and spoke quietly to him, but Nathan remained silent and unmoving.
The hours dragged by, and the family kept watch. Beriah’s wife, Beulah, brought food, as did other women in the neighborhood. The women stayed with Mary and Beriah. Her uncle Zerah stood with the other men in the courtyard, talking quietly among themselves.
About the ninth hour, Nathan suddenly opened his eyes. His voice was hesitant. “Am I dreaming—is it you, Mary?”
Wild with joy, she put his hand to her cheek. “I am here, beloved. You are home.”
He gave her a weak smile and hope made her heart flutter.
“Rest, my husband, you will be well soon.”
He began to mutter, his words coming in short spurts. “The storm . . . so strong . . . knew I should have waited . . . wanted to return to you. Boat too small . . . something fell . . .”
Beriah’s eyes were moist as he smiled down at his son. “Don’t try to talk, my son, you must rest so your head can heal.”
Nathan blinked his eyes several times as if trying to clear his vision and peered up at their anxious faces. “I feel strange.” His voice was hoarse.
He grimaced and she knew he was in pain. “Head hurts . . .” His breathing became more ragged.
Suddenly his eyes widened. “Do you see them?”
Those in the room followed his gaze toward the ceiling. Mary shook her head. “I don’t see anything, Nathan.”
“They are there . . .”
She frowned. Was he having delusions? “Who?”
His voice was almost a whisper. “The angels.”
“No!” A cry of agony left her as she clung to his hand.
“They—are—beckoning—to me.”
“No!” She cried again.
“My son, save your strength. You are dreaming.”
Nathan reached out with his free hand and clasped his father’s.
“Watch over Mary for me, Father. Promise me.”
“I promise, my son. I will look after her.” Beriah promised, his voice cracking as tears slipped down his wrinkled cheeks.
Nathan looked up at her. “I love you, Mary. Have—always—loved you.” His arm went limp, pulling the hand she held downward. Slowly she put his arm by his side, the shock keeping her immobile for a moment. Then a heart-wrenching cry of pain and loss rose up and spilled out of her, and the other women took up the lamentation as Beriah tore his clothes and stumbled out into the courtyard.
Mary could not just sit and weep. The Law required that a body be laid to rest the same day, a commandment from the Lord. In a daze of shock and grief, she helped the women bathe his body and prepare him for his burial.
The procession wound its way through the streets, gathering mourners who wept and cried out, flinging dust into the air as they commiserated with the family in their time of mourning.
Mary wanted to die and be buried with him. How could she go on now? They had weathered so many years of struggle and heartache, only to have just this one year to enjoy one another again. She cried out to HaShem, asking “Why” over and over, but the heavens were silent. She stumbled on, bewildered.
When the family returned to the house, they sat in mourning for the seven days of shivah. Beriah was inconsolable. Beulah sat with him, giving him strength by her quiet presence. Huldah, Merab, and Keturah sat with Mary, lending their comfort as only women can do for one another.
Near the end of the first month of mourning, Mary sat in the courtyard, letting the warm sunshine pour over her. Huldah and Merab came when they could and Keturah brought little Seth. Caring for the baby seemed to help Mary in her grief and from time to time even brought a smile to her face.
The courtyard was quiet. Even the bird that sang in the sycamore tree had stilled his voice. She had slept little for days, unable to speak for the well of grief that settled over her heart. How could God take Nathan away from her so soon? She could not understand.
Little by little, thoughts of Jesus began to infiltrate her mind. She recalled the day she had found him on the hillside, in the middle of her headlong, terrified flight. She once again saw his face with his eyes of compassion and felt again the sense of love that he had poured into her. Was he not the Messiah? She believed that with all her heart, as did many of her neighbors. No one could do the things he did and be a mere prophet. She relived the moment when he had lifted her from the ground. She told him she would follow him anywhere, but he had gently refused.
It seemed so long ago, that day that had brought her back from the living dead. Such joy she felt. Now, the weight of her widowhood pressed upon her. What was she to do now? Her parents were gone, Eliab had returned to his own country, Keturah was married and busy with her own family. She was alone. She had no children to tend. What could she do now? Samuel suggested a kinsman redeemer, a relative of Nathan’s who would be willing to marry her. Yet remembering Nathan and the love they had shared, she could not think of another man taking his place.
On and on questions raced through her mind. She was a woman, and the men in the boatyard would be uneasy if she came alone.
Then, as she sat staring at the ground, she thought of the small group that followed Jesus. Women were in this group. Were they wives of the disciples? Surely women were needed to prepare meals for the men. They looked like good and decent women.
As she mused, a thought began to form in her mind. Her eyes widened and she sat back. It was as if a voice in her head was speaking to her. It was not the same as the voices that had plagued her. She knew this gentle voice.
Daughter of Abraham, be strong and do not falter. Come. The heaviness that had weighed on her heart began to lift. Suddenly she knew what she must do.
30
As the sun climbed higher in the clear sky, the two women sought the shade of a large tree and settled themselves in its shade.
Mary had been told the mother of Jesus was almost fifty, yet her skin had few wrinkles. Her eyes held wisdom and something more. Mary sensed a timelessness about her, and great strength, but also great sorrow. She felt honored that the mother of her Lord had sought her out.
“Tell me about yourself, Mary. How did you come to follow my son?”
Mary mulled her question over a moment, then began with what had happened to her when she was eleven and the suffering she’d endured through the years. Over an hour passed while she shared her story up through the death of
Nathan. The older woman listened without comment, nodding from time to time, but Mary sensed her empathy.
“I am sorry about your husband. I lost mine just after the last of Jesus’s brothers, Simon, was born. Joseph was older than I by twelve years and his lungs were not good. I miss him, but Jesus was such a comfort to me. He was head of the house until the day he told me he was leaving. He said it was time. His brothers and sisters were angry. As the oldest, they expected him to be the family patriarch.”
His mother looked down at the grass and sighed. “I knew the day was coming, but I didn’t know what it meant. It was when he was twelve I was reminded of his mission.”
Mary tilted her head. “When he was twelve?”
The elder Mary smiled. “We had been to Jerusalem for the Passover and were returning to Nazareth with family and friends. We thought he was with us—it was a large company—but we didn’t miss him until we had gone a day’s journey and had not seen him. When we inquired among our relatives and acquaintances, we realized he had stayed behind in Jerusalem. We returned at once but had no idea where to look for him. I was sure something had happened to him and was beside myself. Joseph kept telling me that HaShem would look after him, but I was weeping. By the time we found him, three days had gone by and we were frantic. Sure he’d been kidnapped or come to harm.”
Mary leaned forward. “Where was he?”
“In the Temple, in the midst of the learned scholars and scribes, listening to them and asking them questions.”
“He was asking questions of the Jewish leaders?”
“Yes. They were consulting their scrolls and he seemed so at ease there, not intimidated in the least. Of course I was torn between anger that he had not consulted us, and pleasure at the astonishment of the elders and scribes.”
Mother Mary shook her head. “When Joseph asked him why he had done this to us and told him how anxiously we had sought him, he calmly smiled at us and said, ‘Why did you seek me? Did you not know that I must be about my father’s business?’ ”
“So he knew even then.”
“Yes, and I had forgotten why he was given to me. Life had gone on in such a normal way for so many years—and now I remembered the words of the Most High to me, ‘You shall give birth to a son and shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ ”
“My lady, many years ago, my father sought to have me taught by the local rabbi in our town, but he refused because I was a girl. My husband, Nathan, then just my friend, was hired to teach me. I studied much about the Messiah to come and the prophecies.” Mary stopped, unsure whether to ask, but something leaped within her and her excitement made her bold. “Tell me, where was Jesus born?”
The elder Mary smiled again. “Due to a decree from Caesar Augustus, each man was to return to his own city with his family. Though I was nearly at my time of delivery when the edict came, we were required to travel to Judea, to the city of David, for Joseph was of the house and lineage of David. There I gave birth to my firstborn son.”
Joy filled Mary’s heart, for she knew what the mother of Jesus was saying. “Bethlehem, the city of David. Jesus was born in Bethlehem.”
The elder Mary nodded. “Yes.”
Mary caught her breath and the words came, “The prophet Micah! ‘But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of you shall come for me the One to be Ruler in Israel . . .’ ”
“You do know the Scriptures, as my son told me.”
“So at twelve, he knew even then . . .”
“He knew who his Father was.”
“He came with you then?”
“Oh yes, he was obedient to us and returned to Nazareth. Yet from that day on, it was as if he was so much more mature, his knowledge far beyond the knowledge of the other boys of the town. He spent many hours walking the hills and talking to his Father. Something he still does.”
Mary put a hand on the older woman’s arm. “Oh, dear lady. Every Jewish mother dreams of such a thing—to be chosen as the mother of the Messiah. They pray for sons, with the hope they will be the one to bring him into the world. How blessed you are.”
“And you are blessed, dear Mary of Magdala, to have a father anxious to teach his daughters the Scriptures.” She looked off in the distance. “Perhaps there will come a day when all women will be taught as the men are.”
Mary was glad to hear another woman voice the same thoughts she had. Then another thought crossed her mind. “I’ve been told that his brothers and sisters do not believe in him.”
“No, they knew him only as their older brother. He worked in the carpentry shop with Joseph until Joseph died, then became the head of the family. Everyone knew him as the son of Joseph. The years went by and it was easy to forget all the things that happened before.”
She smiled at Mary. “At thirty, there was much gossip and speculation as to why I had not found a wife for him. Many a young woman in the village dropped hints.”
“He would have made a good husband.”
His mother shook her head. “But that was not what the Most High sent him here to do. Always, in the back of my mind was the feeling that one day something was going to happen. His Father would call him in some way. I’m not sure where his path is leading, I only know I was told that a sword would pierce my own soul.” His mother shuddered. “Something is coming, Mary, that is going to bring great sorrow. I feel it. I just do not know what it is.”
Mary sat quietly, thinking of what she’d been told. It was almost too much to comprehend, yet she had seen Jesus heal every disease and deliver not only herself but others from demonic powers. Many evenings by the fire, she’d heard the disciples discussing miracle after miracle. She was awed when she heard of the time the disciples and Jesus were all in Peter’s boat, out on the lake, when one of the fierce storms arose that swept the lake from time to time. Mary had thought of Nathan and the night he and his friend had been swept into the sea. She’d leaned forward eagerly to hear what happened . . . Jesus had merely spoken to the wind and waves and suddenly all was calm. Only the Son of God could do such things, she reasoned, and hearing the story of Jesus’s birth, it began to all fall into place.
“I do not know what part you are to play in the coming events, Mary. I was only told to find the Magdalene.”
“Perhaps, my lady, it was meant to strengthen my faith for the days to come.”
“That could be his reason. We cannot question his plans for us.”
The older woman rose slowly. “I am glad to meet you, Mary of Magdala. I’m sure we will see each other again in the days to come. I would ask you to watch over my son, but his Father above does that, and guides him on a path we can only follow as spectators.”
Mary had risen also and now embraced her. “I am indeed blessed by your words. I shall look forward to seeing you again.”
One of Jesus’s brothers approached them. “Are you ready to return?”
“Yes, my son, I am ready.” She turned to Mary with a smile. “We have had a nice talk.”
The young man gave Mary a searching look, but with only a brief nod of acknowledgment, escorted his mother back toward Nazareth.
Mary watched them go. What a wonderful woman the mother of Jesus was.
She hurried back to the camp to help the other women prepare their meal. It had been nearly a month since she’d joined the group. If her uncle kept his word, a messenger should be coming with the funds Zerah said he would send her. She wondered how the messenger would find them. She just had to trust Zerah to do what he’d promised. The group was running low on supplies. The donkey could graze on grass by the side of the road, but he needed some other feed. She looked toward the group of disciples. If her uncle sent the pouch, she was honor bound to turn it over to Judas.
As she walked, she thought again of the storm on the Sea of Galilee that had injured Nathan. A thought brushed her mind. If only Jesus had been in that boat with Nathan, he could have stilled the stor
m.
32
Mary was a little apprehensive, for she and the other women had never gone to the home of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. Jesus had only taken his closest disciples, the twelve he had chosen. Yet the women were warmly welcomed by the family in Bethany.
Jesus and his followers stayed two weeks, giving Mary and Susanna much-needed time to wash and repair clothing. They baked bread and added to the provisions of the cart. Martha was friendly but reserved. She ran a well-kept home and kept the women busy with many tasks. Her sister, Mary, was easier to talk to and was interested in hearing of their travels and the words Jesus spoke. Martha, with tight lips, would go about her duties, but her sister wanted to sit with the other disciples and listen to Jesus.
One evening Martha’s sister played the lute for them and sang one of the songs from the Psalms that was often sung on the Sabbath.
It is good to give thanks to the Lord,
And to sing praises to your name, O Most High;
To declare your loving kindness in the morning
And your faithfulness every night.
On an instrument of ten strings, on the lute,
And on the harp,
With harmonious sound,
For you, Lord, have made me glad through your work;
I will triumph in the works of your hands.
As the sweet clear notes rang out in the evening air, Mary looked over at Jesus. He was watching Martha’s sister and nodding to the music. His face seemed peaceful as he leaned back against the wall, listening and smiling.
Some of the men helped Lazarus with his brick making and repairs to the house. It was a time of rest and refreshment for all of them.
In the early evenings, Jesus would make himself comfortable in the shade of the courtyard and continue his teaching. Then he would quietly leave the house to walk the hills in solitude. Many times he stood for long moments looking toward Jerusalem, and Mary wondered what he was thinking.
Mary and Susanna cleaned the small cart and Mary was able to rearrange her things. One morning Mary opened a bundle that had been hidden under other household goods and cooking items and recognized the robe she had woven for Nathan. She wasn’t sure why she had packed it and then forgotten about it. Now, as she examined the garment, woven in one piece without a seam, she knew who she would give it to. The next morning, when Jesus returned from a sojourn in the hills, she approached him. She noted how threadbare his robe had become.
Mary Magdalene A Novel Page 12
