Faithful Daughter of Israel

by Wanda Ann Thomas

  A tear slipped down her cheek. “I will never turn from serving the Lord God of Israel.”

  “Nobody is asking you to.” He brushed away the moisture. “Tell me Anna, could you love and tenderly care for a Roman child as you would a Jewish child?”

  She gasped. “Of course. No matter what, I would be a loving mother.”

  “I believe you.”

  “If there is a child, you will let me keep him?”

  Her vulnerability tore at his heart. “Yes, but under one condition. That you always speak well of me. Will you be able tell the child, though your father is a heathen, he is a good man? Can you say it and mean it, Anna?”

  She brushed away her tear and nodded. “With all my heart.”

  “You realize if there is a child, it will bind us together for a long time to come? Neither of us would be free.”

  “I am sorry for that.”

  Her answer stabbed at his heart.

  He walked the deck for a long time afterward.

  A child would change everything.

  Why couldn’t he convince himself to wish and hope there was no child?

  Twenty-Six

  The first night of the voyage found Anna adrift in the blackest dark she had ever known. She found no comfort in Julian’s deep breathing as he slept. The ship’s constant dipping, then rising, then dropping again disoriented her.

  But the real blame for the ill-ease roiling her insides was guilt toward Julian. Aside from his failing to tell her he had a Jewish mother and that he was circumcised, what wrong had he truly done? Unable to hang onto her anger, she acknowledged her spitefulness and felt shame roiling her belly.

  Furthermore, her lifelong belief Gentiles and apostates must be shunned continued to bump up against her genuine liking for Julian. He continually surprised her. He rejected the Law of Moses, yet more often than not did the good and kind thing. He did not observe the Sabbath, but had gone out of his way to ensure she keep the Sabbath rest. He did not worship the God of Israel, but possessed a Torah scroll.

  These contradictions merely perplexed her.

  More disturbing was the toe-tingling, heart pounding sensations he aroused in her whenever he came close. Though he had declared his right to bed her as often as he like, he had yet to act on it. Once, she had been afraid of his touch. Now she feared he would never touch her again.

  He could not risk a child.

  His stunned look had said it all. A child would mean the ruin of all his plans. She knew him well enough by now to know he would not walk away from a child that was his. What he wanted was to be free.

  Free to fulfill his promise to his father. Free to marry a Roman wife. Free of her.

  To her shame, Anna hoped and prayed she was with child. Because it would mean she could have what she was not supposed to have—a Roman husband, namely, Julian of Alexandria.

  She turned her back to him and clung to the edge of the mattress, lest the gentle rolling of the ship push her toward the man who planned to divorce her the instant his feet hit Egyptian soil.

  ∞∞∞

  The first night at sea behind them, the sun showed no sign of dawning. A heavy shroud of sea fog hung over the ship. Julian felt at one with the void. Never fully accepted into the Roman world because of the circumcision, and with no real interest in the Jewish world, he had learned to get along on his own. If his father had lived, things might have been different. But he hadn’t.

  Agonizing over the what ifs was for fools.

  And while no fool, he was not above admitting he hated his solitary life.

  His mother, who counted marriage as a balm for all ills, bless her matchmaking soul, was nagging him to marry.

  The postscript of her last letter consisted of two names, both Roman Senators. The men possessed marriageable daughters and little else. He knew the women. One was a middle-aged, thrice-divorced crocodile whose only charm was her father’s good name. The other was not a woman at all, but a young girl barely off her mother’s milk. An exaggeration, but still he would feel nothing short of predatory marrying the barely pubescent girl.

  Even though her judgment was somewhat wanting, his mother was correct. He needed a wife. But he already had one. Anna was his wife. Her warm presence in his bed soothed. The sound of her soft breathing comforted.

  He pictured days spent living and working among strangers, ending with him welcomed home each night by her gentle smile and warm embrace. The cherub-faced children he imagined hiding behind her skirts, dashed the elusive idyll to pieces. She had turned deathly white at the thought of a child binding them together. Truth be told he would not deliberately put a child in the same impossible position as he.

  He exhaled a harsh breath.

  The sound disturbed Anna. She turned toward him and her arm came to rest across his body, the warm fingers of her hand just brushing his upper thigh.

  His blood heated. He reached for her. What was he doing, for god’s sake? She was sound asleep.”

  Herculean effort brought him to his feet. He gasped an apology, “Forgive me, Anna, but you tempt me. You tempt me mightily.” With that, he fled into the dark.

  Twenty-Seven

  Having been lured to the ships rail by the sailors’ cries, Julian admired the sight of Egypt’s great port city of Alexandria. “There she is.”

  “You must have very keen eyesight.”

  He turned to find Anna.

  After the disastrous first night aboard the ship, they had kept their distance from one another for the rest of the journey. He paced the deck by day and curled up on a blanket in the open at night. She stayed burrowed mole-like in the shelter.

  Anxious to make amends, he scrambled to make logic from what she had said. “See it? I would have to be blind to miss it. Your eyes just need time to adjust to the light.” A lengthy upriver voyage lay between him and his childhood abode, but the sight of the Lighthouse of Alexandria always signified home to him.

  “It?” Anna asked, then a blossom of pink appeared on each cheek. She dipped her chin and made to leave.

  “Whoa…” Careful not to touch her, he corralled her back toward the rail. “You thought I could see someone from here? Oh…you thought I saw my mother?”

  She cast him a shy glance. “Is she as kind as you?”

  He had been called arrogant, stubborn, humorless, and a few other apt names. But kind? “My mother is the soul of kindness.”

  A small smile curved her lips. “You look insulted. It just proves how horrible I have been to you, when time and again, you have gone out of your way to help me.”

  She was not totally disgusted by him. That was something. “Think nothing of it.”

  “If a few weeks’ journey to Egypt and back is not called going out of one’s way, I do not know what is.” Her smile faltered. “I will never forget your kindness.”

  It took all his strength not to draw her into his arms. “You are well?”

  She hugged her middle. “We are free to part. There is no child.”

  He did not detect any sign of relief in her face.

  “I am sorry.” He meant it.

  Uncertainty shined in her eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  Given her valiant efforts toward parting in peace, he hated to break the news. “You will have to put up with me for another few days. We still have a distance to go before reaching my mother and our family farm.” He pointed to a purple and gold barge crossing the busy bay. “I own a barge similar to that craft. We can start the journey up the Nile today, unless you would like a day or two to rest?”

  “It does not look a very restful place.” She gazed in the direction of the bustling harbor and the crowded city beyond. “You promised me I would love the Nile. I am anxious to see it and to meet your mother.”

  “You will like her.”

  “I am sure I will.” Her eyes clouded. “I hate burdening her like this. Will she mind?”

  Mildly curious as to what his mother would make of his coming home
with a Jewish wife and failed harlot, he was sure of one thing. Jochebed of Arsinoe would act as she always did toward others—with unfailingly kindness and generosity. If anything, his mother was too nice.

  He offered Anna a reassuring smile. “If I know my mother, she is beyond eager to meet you.”

  ∞∞∞

  Anna took another tentative step, then another. The solid ground beneath her feet felt no more substantial than puffy clouds. She had no more made the adjustment to walking on land when she was handed into the next boat.

  Julian gave quick instructions to the ferryboat captain “We are bound for the Rose of Sharon. But, take us by way of the city’s shoreline. I want to show my wife the best views of Alexandria.”

  Julian’s habit of introducing her as his wife to everyone they encountered produced the usual hot blush. It was not done to save himself from embarrassing explanations—from all she had seen, Julian of Alexandria could not care less what others thought of him. No, it was for her sake, for her ease, so others would not mistake her for his slave mistress or some such other ignominious title. She blessed him for his thoughtfulness.

  He helped her down onto a bench and sat beside her, leaving a good amount of space between them.

  The boat slipped away from the dock.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “To a slip upriver. My barge, the Rose of Sharon, is berthed there.”

  “The Sharon Rose?” Why would a man who claimed to hate Israel name his boat for flowers found in the foothills of Judea?

  “My mother uses the barge more than I do.”

  She bit back a smile. “For her frequent trips to Alexandria, no doubt?”

  His lopsided grin charmed. “What kind of son would I be if I made my mother cruise the Nile in a boat called Skull Crusher or Deadly Mayhem?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Terrible names. And too barbaric for you. Valiant Warrior or Mighty Prince would suit you better.”

  “There is nothing I hate worse than a braggart,” he said, brushing off the compliment. But she could tell he was pleased.

  “You picked The Rose of Sharon to please your mother, didn’t you?”

  Red-faced, he admitted nothing. “And here I was missing our little chats.”

  She missed their talks, too.

  Careful not to touch or brush against her, Julian pointed out the sights, naming temple after temple dedicated to this or that god. The novel shapes and styles of the buildings captured her fancy. Especially interesting was the vast variety of brightly painted hieroglyphics decorating every last column, statue, and building. Because she came from a land whose Law forbade graven images, it was something of a shock, and a fascination, to witness depictions of people and animals everywhere one turned.

  Though a larger version, the port of Alexandria had the look and feel of Caesarea’s harbor. The boat veered toward a sturdy seawall. Telltale cement declared it manmade. She spoke over the gusts of wind. “Herod must have copied what he saw here when he built at Caesarea.”

  Julian shrugged. “I could not say. It could be Alexandria’s engineers copied Herod the Great’s work.” At her doubtful look, he added, “His fortresses at Masada and Herodium are first class, as are his aqueduct work at Caesarea and Jerusalem. And he earned worldwide renown for the exemplary style and beauty of the Temple and the wholesale transformation he had made to its grounds.”

  She must have looked agog because he bumped her shoulder.

  He laughed. “It is true. I saw with my own eyes a plaque in Greece commending Herod the Great’s work on behalf of the people of Greece.”

  Julian’s warm touch and boyish smile brought back memories of the other boat ride they had shared. He had been a stranger then. And she had been frightened of him. She was just as skittish now, but for wholly different reasons. She had stepped to the ship’s rail this morning determined to return kindness for kindness, to treat Julian with nothing more and nothing less than gracious respect, and to maintain a polite but distant air.

  Despite hours of earnest prayers, one smile and her ambivalence went the way of smoke. Her good intentions vanished into nothingness. One touch and her body burned to revisit the marriage bed. If mere moments in his presence undid her, how was she to find the wherewithal to resist him for whatever time it took to journey up the Nile to his farm?

  The ride seemingly over before it started, the small ferry glided to a stop next to a large, flat-bottomed boat. The Rose of Sharon. River barge, indeed. Decked out with potted palms, plush reclining couches, and blue and white-striped awning, it more closely resembled a floating oasis than a boat.

  A lone passenger was already aboard. The woman was framed by two slaves. The Egyptian serving maids might have stepped directly from a hieroglyphic scene with their white-pleated dresses, glossy blunt-cut hair, and tawny-brown skin. Each waved a long-handled fan of palm leaves.

  “Mother,” Julian called.

  The fronds stilled and the woman stood. Notwithstanding the silver lightening her hair and a certain softness about her chin that declared her a middle-aged woman, Julian’s mother Jochebed possessed a soft loveliness mellowed to serene beauty by age.

  Julian helped Anna stand. “It seems my mother could not wait to meet you.” He sounded equal parts pleased and exasperated.

  Anna leaned closer to his sheltering protection. “Is that a good sign… or a bad one?”

  “That depends.” His warm laugh tickled her ear. “For you… good. For me… not so good.”

  Though she detected tender affection in his voice, and though she did not feel any tension in the hand at her elbow, Anna nonetheless entered Julian’s mother’s presence with fear and trembling.

  Jochebed smiled. The smile did not sit like a dead fish upon her lips as fake smiles tended to. No, her smile danced in her eyes and beamed from her whole face.

  Anna felt more than relief. She suddenly believed everything was going to work out for good.

  Julian released her elbow to embrace his mother.

  Anna watched the happy reunion between mother and son with a mix of envy and wonder.

  Jochebed pulled back first and took Julian’s face between her hands. “Yaqqiyr Ben, Yaqqiyr Ben” Dear Son, Dear Son, she called him. Her use of the Hebrew endearment came as a small shock.

  Julian responded in the Hebrew. “Yaqqiyr Em” Dear Mother, he said.

  Anna’s heart grew heavy as she recalled her mother and father and brothers and sisters.

  Julian’s warm hand settled on her lower back and he drew her to his side. “Mother, meet Anna the Jerusalemite. She is a good woman who has had a rough go of it of late.”

  Though Anna appreciated the sympathetic characterization of her plight, and though it was heartening to hear herself called Anna the Jerusalemite rather than Cursed Anna or, thank you Lord God, Anna the Harlot, part of her ached—because the days of Julian calling her Wife were at an end.

  His warrior’s hand flexed against her back. A gesture probably intended to bolster her courage, but had her nearly jumping out of her skin. More reassuring was the encouraging nod Jochebed offered as Julian continued the introduction. “Anna, I am pleased to have you meet my mother, Jochebed, the kindest woman in all of Egypt.”

  His mother laughed warmly. “Do not listen to my son over much, or he will have you believing I am a saint. When what I am is a spoiled rich woman with too many slaves, who never has to lift a finger because I am waited on hand and foot.”

  “And why do you have too many slaves, Mother?”

  “Because…” Jochebed’s scolding tone melted to one of maternal chagrin. “I have an over-generous son who indulges my every whim.”

  Julian winked at Anna. “My good-hearted mother is far too modest to boast over her good works, so I will brag for her. Alexandria’s streets overflow with orphans. My mother rescues, feeds, clothes, and trains them to a trade, taking in new children as soon as places for the ones who came before them can be found.” There was no indication his mo
ther’s charity annoyed or bothered him. Rather, he looked and sounded proud and full of admiration.

  Fascinated by the loving interplay between mother and son, Anna grimaced inwardly when the pair turned their attention to her.

  Keenly aware she was merely another poor and needy soul in need of rescuing—and her much assailed pride wishing to heaven it was not so—she needed every fiber of fortitude she could muster to keep her head held high for Jochebed’s thorough inspection.

  What would so respectable a woman make of her? It was all good and well to take pity on poor defenseless children, and another thing altogether to welcome with open arms a lowly dung collector’s servant, would-be harlot, cursed outcast—and, worst of all, the fallen woman whom her beloved son had been forced to marry.

  “And my wife needs your help, too, Mother.”

  Anna’s mortification grew lest Jochebed think Julian was tricked or deceived into marrying a perfect nobody. A perfectly unsuitable bride was more like it. “I had nothing to do with marrying your son. The marriage contract was drawn up without my knowledge.”

  Jochebed frowned. Except she frowned in the wrong direction. Her son bore the full brunt of her penetrating gaze.

  Anna cringed. Oh…! I am making a mess of things! The poor woman completely misunderstood me. I did not mean for it to sound as if Julian had done anything improper. Or worse still, to have her thinking I am ungrateful. Anna desperately wanted this woman, of all people, to like her.

  “Wife?” It was difficult to tell if Jochebed was surprised or distressed by the news.” You are still married?”

  Twitchiness crept its way up Anna’s spine as she listened to Julian offer up his version of events to his mother.

  “What about the divorce?”

  Anna held her breath, and thought maybe Jochebed did, too.

  Julian opened his mouth, then snapped it closed again. He proceeded to glare at them both as though they were guilty of some great wrong. He looked quite formidable—the Angel of Death would have a hard time fashioning a blacker scowl.