He leaned closer to her. “What’s made you feisty now?” he murmured in her ear.
Her anger bloomed into a different kind of heat. “Are you trying to rile me on purpose?”
A dimple creased his cheek for the briefest of moments. “Why would I do that?”
Thoroughly distracted, she couldn’t think of an answer.
Nathan and Pinhas excused themselves. Cephas winked, popped a grape into his mouth, stood, and took his leave with Nathan and Pinhas.
Mary held her cool mug to her flushed face, wondering why Cephas frustrated, confused, and intrigued her more than any man she’d ever known.
***
Later that morning Mary stood next to the barn with the rest of the family, watching Cephas and Pinhas make the final adjustments to the press. A wagonload of plump olives stood ready for the trial pressing.
Nathan and one of the hired laborers turned the handle operating a large screw. The large stone wheel Cephas had crafted slid downward, crushing olives. Oil poured from an opening in the bottom of the stone basin and flowed into a round trough.
“Good,” Cephas called out in his deep, pleasant voice.
The men stepped back to examine their handiwork, and Cephas almost backed into Mary. She moved to her right and his wide shoulder brushed her arm.
She wet her lips. “The press is lovely. Nathan says it will speed the olive oil production by weeks.”
Cephas nodded. “That sounds right.”
“You are going to Dabaritta next?”
He nodded.
She gnashed her teeth. Had she imagined the captivating conversation they had on this very spot? “What kind of work will you do there?”
“I will be building a reflection pool like the one I made at the Sepphoris fortress for Herod of Idumea.”
Progress at last. A whole sentence. “A pool? At the fortress?”
“Herod enjoys luxurious living. He spared no expense.”
Mary had heard Pinhas comment many times on Cephas's exceptional talent. “He hired you because he wanted the best craftsman.”
Cephas shrugged and ducked his head, but she could tell the compliment pleased him. “I’m blessed to have a passion for the trade I was born to.”
Passion was not a word she would have associated with Cephas. A reserved loner, he usually hung at the edge of rooms or at the fringe of conversations. But she’d seen a hint of the ardor he was capable of in private.
Mary’s mother hurried to Cephas’s side before Mary had a chance to do something foolhardy like ask Cephas to take a walk in the orchard.
Her mother twisted the rag clutched in her hands. “I hope you don’t plan to rush off before the harvest celebration and the Maidens’ Dance. I made Mary a new white tunic for the festival. She will be the prettiest girl in the orchard.”
“Mother…” Mary said embarrassed.
Cephas turned his nut-brown eyes on Mary. “I could be tempted to remain a while longer.”
She didn’t want to examine too closely why the thought of Cephas going away made her feel a bit panicked. But she also wasn’t ready to ask him to stay for her sake. “The girls from Rumah have their hopes pinned on you being there.” The small festival they celebrated at the farm was a simpler version of the one to come when they traveled to Jerusalem for the fall Feasts a month from now.
“What about you, Mary?” he challenged. “Will you be dancing?”
Her toes curled. “I...”
“Of course Mary will dance,” her mother declared.
All the girls of marriageable age from Rumah and the surrounding farms would dance through the torchlit orchard. And young men wanting to marry would try to catch the eye of the girl of their choosing. The music and stars and blur of white-clothed girls dancing through the orchard had thoroughly enchanted Mary when she’d watched as a child, and she had grown up dreaming of the day she could join in with the other girls in the lovely ritual.
Her face heated. “I promised.”
“Let’s put my new press to work,” Nathan called to Cephas.
Cephas stared intently at Mary. “I will stay to watch the Maidens’ Dance. I will be standing next to the lightening-struck tree.” Not giving her time to reply, he rejoined Nathan and Pinhas.
Mary's head spun dizzyingly. Cephas still wanted to marry her despite her rudeness. But was that what she wanted? Marriage and children. Her destiny and duty, except the familiar clutching fear returned. She backed away from the press, and kept backing up.
“Where are you going?” her mother asked.
“To take a walk in the orchard.” She turned and hurried away.
CHAPTER 7
Mary lengthened her stride. The branches of the squat olive trees reached out with wide arms, ready to comfort and cheer her. She plunged into the shade of the leafy refuge. The birdsong overhead soothed. The welling panic subsided. Her breaths came easier.
She weaved around gnarled trunks hundreds of years old until she came to the splintered remains of the lightening-struck tree. Cleaved in half during a violent spring storm, the loss of one of the oldest trees in the orchard had saddened the whole family.
A streak of black marred the blond wood. Mary ran her finger over the ash-soft vein. Cephas promised to stand by the trunk, waiting for her. She pulled her hand away as if burned. Why did she allow the idea of marrying frighten her so? Cephas would be a kind, gentle husband. She wouldn’t blame him if he grew disgusted with her encouraging his attention one moment, then treating him with disdain the next, and turned his attention to someone else.
Stomach knotting at the thought, she plunged deeper into the orchard and entered a patch of saplings. A single plump olive clinging to a slim shoot drew her. She snapped the olive free and inhaled the light, fresh scent, then bit into the juicy purple fruit, filling her mouth with the soothing taste.
“Mary,” a rough voice said.
She twisted around. Cephas stood in the bright opening between the old and young groves, his eyes dark and intent. “I have a gift for you.” He started toward her, his movements slow and sure.
She swallowed the now tasteless olive. “You do? W...why?”
Cephas stopped in front of her, radiating warmth and vitality. “It's to help you remember your guardian angel.”
“Who?”
He brushed his finger down her chin, his impish grin dimpling one cheek. “I never knew olive juice could be so distracting.”
A delicious shiver went through her. “Sorry...what were you—”
“Your guardian angel.” He opened his other hand, revealing a flat, polished stone incised with gently curved vertical lines.
She touched the smooth pink sandstone. “It's beautiful.”
He traced the delicate lines. “I carved them to look like blades of grass.”
It was perfect and breathtakingly exquisite; she glanced up in wonder. “You carved this...for me?”
He gave a modest shrug. “The grass is waving from the passing of an angel. I made it to remind you, no matter where you go or what you do, you are not alone. Your guardian angel will be there to watch and protect.”
Deeply touched, she struggled to speak. “I hope to leave the disturbing dreams behind when I go.”
He pressed the smooth, rosy stone into her palm and folded his fingers over hers. “I hope you find peace. Even so, living far from everything you know will take getting used to. I'm certain I will find it as difficult when I go to Syria.”
“Syria? Why are you going so far from home?”
“To carve decorative stones for the Roman governor's sculpture garden.”
“When will you go? How long will you be gone?”
His eyes grew solemn. “As soon as I finish the reflection pool in Dabaritta. I won't know a soul when I get there.”
“I hate the idea of you being alone.”
His thumb stroked hers. “I had hoped to marry.”
Her blood pulsed faster. “There's still time.”
“
It will take a special woman to marry a man whose trade keeps him moving from spot to spot.”
“I thought I knew what I wanted, but…could you be patient? Give me time to consider matters?”
He squeezed her hand before releasing it. “My patience has limits, Mary.” His gentle voice contrasted with his firm stare. “I will leave the farm immediately after the harvest celebration. It might be years before I return to Galilee.”
Though quiet and reserved, it was clear he wouldn’t be pushed around. She liked him more for it. “I will give you an answer at the Maidens’ Dance.”
He flashed his gorgeous smile. “You know where you will find me.”
Her heart beat loud in her ear. “Next to the lightning-struck tree.”
“I told Nathan and Pinhas I wouldn’t be long.” He backed away, then turned and disappeared into the grove.
The pink sandstone radiated a comforting warmth. She opened her hand and marveled at the field of waving grass captured in polished stone. A combination of hardness and softness, a perfect reflection of Cephas.
CHAPTER 8
The next afternoon Mary sat with Alexandra in the shade of the stone house, pitting dates for the special sauce her mother always prepared for the harvest celebration. The normal busyness of the farm was multiplied many times, with neighboring families arriving to share in the festivities.
Ten women had joined them, with more to come. Conversation flowed. The men were gathered around the new press, talking and gesturing with vigor. Children raced to and from the orchard, playing and laughing.
Her nephews were extra-boisterous, pestering their mother to take them for another walk in the orchard. “Mother, please,” four-year-old Achan begged.
Two-year-old Raziel toddled over and threw his chubby arms around Alexandra's neck. “Raziel eat.”
Alexandra sighed and hugged Raziel. “I'm sorry my darlings, but your mother is more tired than usual.”
Mary hopped to her feet. Alexandra hadn't slowed down a bit when she carried Achan and Raziel, but this babe was wearing on her. It was difficult not to worry. “I'll watch the boys. You should go inside and rest.”
Alexandra smiled. “Thank you, dear. A small nap sounds wonderful.” She patted Achan and Raziel on the head. “Be good for Aunt Mary.”
Mary held out her hands and the boys rushed to her side. She laughed, her heart soaring at the feel of their chubby, sticky fingers clamped around her hands.
Two of the neighbor women helped Alexandra to her feet. She swayed and put a hand to her forehead. “I feel a bit dizzy.”
Mary's mother, who always seemed to be everywhere at once, swooped in, putting a steadying arm under Alexandra's elbow.
Mary tightened her grip on the boys’ fingers. “Is the baby coming?”
Alexandra rubbed her distended belly. “Not yet. But the babe is sitting lower. I don't think it will be long.”
Mary's mother frowned. “When did your ankles and hands swell like melons?”
Alexandra held out her hands. “They were fine this morning. Of course, I haven't been able to see my feet in months, so I can't say for sure. I hope you are not going to fret over me, Rhoda.”
“I'll fret if I want to,” Mary's mother scolded, leading Alexandra inside.
Mary didn't hear Alexandra's reply, but was relieved when she heard her mother chuckle. Her mother wouldn't be laughing if she believed Alexandra was in danger.
Achan tugged on her arm. “I want to go play in the orchard with the other boys.”
“Eat, eat,” Raziel chimed in, pleased with the newest word he'd mastered.
Mary led the boys to a wooden table spread with bowls of fruits and breads and olives and roasted nuts and much more.
She helped Achan find the fattest, reddest apple.
Small hands stuffed with food, Raziel grinned and held his arms aloft. “Up, up...” the rest of his words were garbled.
“What did he say?” a laughing voice asked.
Mary scooped Raziel off his feet, and smiled back at Cephas. “I don't know.”
Achan made a face. “He wants an apple. Raziel always does what I do.”
Mary tousled Achan's curly hair. “That's because you are the best brother in the world.”
Achan exhaled a long sigh. “I try my hardest.”
Cephas plucked three shiny apples from a basket and held one out. “I'll join you on your walk.”
She bit her lip. “There's been no good time to speak to Nathan, Alexandra, and my mother. Between the labors for the harvest celebration and the—”
“There's no need to apologize,” Cephas said softly.
“But you said your patience had limits.”
“Your smiles tell me I have reason to hope. Do I?”
Her mouth went dry. She nodded.
Achan hopped in place impatiently. “Running in the orchard is fun,” he announced to Cephas.
Cephas wagged his brows at her. “Your aunt got very irritated with me the last time I ran through the orchard.”
“Did she cry like this?” Achan threw himself on the ground and kicked his hands and legs.
Cephas grinned. “Not quite, but...”
She laughed and had a hard time remembering why, just a short time ago, she'd found his interest in her so alarming.
Raziel wiggled to get down. She set him on his feet and he raced off.
Cephas's elbow brushed hers. “You are good with the boys. Your children will be blessed to call you mother.”
Her stomach dropped.
Concern lined Cephas's face. “I didn't mean to upset you.”
Tempted to confess the truth, she stared at him for a long moment. No, she couldn't. He wouldn't understand. No one would. She couldn't explain to herself why she didn’t relish the idea of having children. It wasn't normal. Motherless women were pitied. Some believed a woman with a barren womb was cursed. She took a deep breath. “I'm fine.”
Cephas frowned.
“Truly,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Father!” Achan called excitedly.
Nathan walked toward them, accompanied by Bartholomew ben Judah.
“Old Barth looks unhappy,” Cephas said under his breath.
“I haven't seen Tabitha’s grandfather since...” her voice broke “...since Tabitha died.” Bartholomew usually avoided Mary. “I'm going to be nice,” she murmured. “No matter what he says. For Tabitha's sake.”
Cephas stepped forward and nodded a greeting. “Nathan. Bartholomew. Is something wrong?”
Bartholomew pointed a meaty finger at Cephas and his beefy jowls shook. “Is it true? Did you blaspheme the name of the Lord by carving an idol for Herod?”
Mary's stomach knotted. The accusation was weighted with danger—idols worshipers and those who created them could be stoned to death.
Cephas remained tranquil as a summer sunset. “Idol? I don’t understand. I constructed a reflection pool for his garden.”
Mary's mother rushed over, took Achan and Raziel by the hand, and led them to the shelter of house, relieving Mary of one worry.
Bartholomew shook his finger again. “Zeb saw the stones carved to look like curling waves.”
“And...?” Cephas asked, his voice cautious.
“Do you have no regard for the Lord's Commandment?” Bartholomew raged.
Cephas stood taller. “It is not as if I remade the golden calf. They are just waves.”
Mary narrowed her eyes at Bartholomew. “Cephas would never make idols.”
Bartholomew pushed past Cephas and glared down at her. “This is none of your business.”
Her face heated and her temper boiled, but she held her tongue. Old Barth didn't look well. The death of Tabitha and the baby had taken a toll on him.
Cephas stepped between them. “Leave Mary out of this.” His muscles were bunched, ready to spring to action, but his voice remained calm. “I apologize if my stone work offends you. I would rather cut my hand off than carve idols. The waves are for
decoration. Not for worship.”
Bartholomew's thick brows snapped together. “Everybody knows Herod worships idols in private. What if he tricked you?”
Nathan interceded. “You are a wise man, Bartholomew. Too wise to heed gossip.”
“Herod's mother is Nabatean,” Bartholomew countered.
“Cypros set aside idol worship to marry Herod's father,” Nathan said patiently.
“The waves were my idea,” Cephas added.
Bartholomew stroked his jowls. “I won't cause any more trouble if you agree to destroy the pool and promise not to carve anymore likenesses.”
Mary opened her mouth, ready to tell him to mind his own business, but Tabitha's dear face came to mind. She clamped her lips together and glared at him instead.
Nathan put a steadying arm around her. “Would you go check on Alexandra for me, Sweet Lamb?”
Mary marched away. Sweet Lamb. Nathan called her that whenever her temper got the best of her. She hadn't exactly been gracious, but...”
“Mary,” Cephas called following her.
She walked faster. “I won't be responsible for my actions if you call me Sweet Lamb.”
“Now that's almost too tempting a warning to pass up.”
She spun on her heel and fisted her hands on her hips. “Bartholomew makes me so angry I could… I could...”
Cephas’s low laugh reminded her of the wind rattling through the olive leaves. “You are a glory to behold when you are riled up, Sweet Mary. Makes me want to annoy Old Barth on a regular basis.”
Her frustration gave way to a smile. “Why can't I stay upset with you?”
“Because you like my teasing.” His smile faded. “It is injustice and hatefulness that provoke you. A very admirable trait.”
“Truly?”
“You won't allow those you love and care about to be mistreated. Where is the sin in that?”
“You make me sound noble.”
“That’s because you are noble.” His eyes sparkled with playfulness. “Should I read anything into your coming to my defense?”
She wanted to throw her arms around him. “As punishment for your teasing, you will have to wait for the harvest dance to learn my answer.”
The Stonecutter: A Herod Chronicles Novella Page 3
