by Maggie Anton
For Salomon, a new picture of his mother emerged as seen through his daughters’ loving eyes, and he realized that his only chance of receiving such a fond eulogy lay in being a devoted father to Rachel and little Leah. He would have to make sure that they grew up with equally warm and affectionate memories of him.
fourteen
Fall 4833 (1073 C.E.)
As shiva, those first seven days of intense mourning after the funeral, drew to a close, Rivka sadly suggested that perhaps they should write to Meir. With Salomon in mourning, the wedding must surely be canceled.
“Oy, I forgot about Meir completely.” Salomon shook his head. “He’s probably already on his way here by now.”
“What are you going to do with him?” Rivka asked. “Send him back to Worms or to his parents’ house?”
“My mother’s death doesn’t change my need to have Meir help with the younger students.” Salomon paused and stroked his beard. “He may as well stay in Troyes. The wedding is only postponed, not canceled. He and Joheved can wait a few months.”
Joheved almost cried with relief at Papa’s announcement. Now she wouldn’t be wed to a stranger. She and Meir would see each other every day, share meals, get a chance to know each other. Joheved would never admit, even to herself, how much she envied Miriam’s love match.
At first Joheved kept a sharp eye out for any young strangers at synagogue. She wasn’t sure she’d recognize her fiancé when he arrived; she hadn’t seen him for almost a year, and during their brief times together she’d been careful not to stare at him. After a week went by without Meir’s appearance, Joheved grew less vigilant, and three weeks later, she gave the men’s section only a cursory glance as she climbed the synagogue stairs.
Thus she didn’t give a second thought to the young man who stood hesitantly at the cellar entrance one afternoon. She was fully occupied with a wine buyer who could not decide which cask’s contents to purchase. Papa and the others were in the vineyard, stringing up netting to keep the ripening grapes safe from hungry birds, and Joheved would much rather have been outdoors listening to her father’s lessons than down in the cellar drawing unending wine samples for this merchant who was drinking more wine than he’d likely end up buying.
Her impatience grew. The only reason they even had such a choice of wine to sell this late in the season was because Salomon no longer needed it for her wedding. So when she noticed the second man coming into the cellar, she sighed in resignation. Another customer—she’d never get out to the vineyard now.
She forced herself to politely greet the stranger. Tall and brown haired with a full beard, he had a lanky frame that proclaimed his youth. He seemed ill at ease, probably a new junior partner, one who undertook the risky journeys to distant markets while the senior partner provided the capital and stayed safely at home. His dark green côte was of excellent quality, somewhat dusty from travel, and rather handsome with his deep yellow chemise and hose. At least it seemed likely he could afford their prices.
She was drawing him a cup of wine when Rivka called to her from the kitchen. “Joheved, are you still in the cellar?”
“Oui, Mama. I have two buyers down here with me. Do you need me for anything?”
“Nothing that can’t wait,” the voice from upstairs replied. “Don’t let me keep you from the customers.”
Meir’s suspicions were confirmed. The young woman handing him a cup of wine was his betrothed, but she had no idea who he was! And after all he’d endured to get here to marry her.
It had never been difficult to find companions traveling home for holidays, but any merchant going to the Troyes Hot Fair had left long ago. Meir had waited in Worms for weeks. He’d nearly despaired of finding anyone going west, when word came of a party of knights attending the fair. They were likely to be poor company, but he would get to Troyes in safety. The journey had been as irritating as he had anticipated, and this morning, when he knew he could make Troyes’ gates before dark if he rode hard, Meir gladly bid his comrades adieu.
Meir’s annoyance evaporated as he surreptitiously watched Joheved. The wine was very good, and after downing the contents of his mug, he decided to conceal his identity a while longer. In Worms, Meir always drank his wine well diluted, so he was unprepared for the effect of a full cup of strong wine on his empty stomach. His mood began to lighten considerably as he continued observing his fiancée.
She had certainly grown up to be an attractive woman. Her skin looked soft and creamy next to her dark hair, braids that ended well below her waist. He briefly wondered what all that hair would look like, loose and flowing against a pillow, and then chided himself for harboring such unseemly thoughts.
Her bliaut was a deep rose color, and her pale blue chemise was embroidered with flowers in shades of blue, pink and burgundy. Meir couldn’t help but notice that the figure under her bliaut was definitely not that of a young girl, and when she lifted her skirts to climb upstairs to bring them more bread, he openly savored her exposed ankles and calves, instead of modestly looking away as he normally would have done. Why shouldn’t he admire her? In less than a month they’d be sharing a bed.
Upstairs in the kitchen, as she tried to relax and slow her racing heartbeat, Joheved was also having a silent conversation with herself. For shame, she scolded herself, getting flustered just because a handsome stranger couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Don’t encourage him; you’re a betrothed woman! Don’t waste the fresh bread on him; give him some from yesterday.
Joheved knew she should listen to her conscience, even as she knew she was going to ignore it. She resolutely cut the source of her consternation a large piece of the freshest bread and brought it downstairs to him. As he ate, she silently refilled the young man’s cup from a different cask, feeling flattered yet annoyed that he was staring at her so brazenly. Did he think his fine looks and clothes gave him such license? She felt her face growing warm and was mortified that he might notice her blushing. This was definitely going to be a trying afternoon.
The older merchant finally made up his mind, so she tried to ignore the impertinent young one’s interest in her and concentrate on negotiating a price. But both tasks proved difficult. Implying that there must be something wrong with the wine because it hadn’t sold earlier, the first merchant made a ridiculously low offer.
Joheved expected bargaining, but this was outrageous. Her eyes narrowed in anger, and Meir, emboldened by his second cup of wine, entered the fray by loudly remarking that this fine vintage was certainly worth more than such a paltry amount. Perhaps the good mistress should deal with him first. The older man, furious at his competitor’s interference, turned to Meir and ordered him outside to discuss the matter.
Meir gallantly agreed, and after suggesting that Joheved might bring down some more of her excellent bread, followed him into the courtyard. Joheved returned to the kitchen, sure that there was something familiar about the young merchant’s voice. But she couldn’t seem to place it.
“What do you mean by meddling in my business?” The older man kept his voice low but the anger was unmistakable. “If you keep quiet we may both profit well.”
“Shalom aleichem, Master…?” Meir said.
“Simon haLevi.” The merchant rudely ignored Meir’s greeting.
“Meir ben Samuel, at your service.” He bowed deeply. “Now Master haLevi, perhaps you aren’t aware that the vintner in question here is the town’s rabbi, their Rosh Yeshiva. What are a few deniers to you when the Day of Judgment is nigh and the Holy One is about to weigh your deeds?” Meir held out his hands as if balancing something invisible. “Which do you want written by your name in the Book of Life, that you generously supported a Torah scholar or that you deprived one of sustenance?”
Simon’s face blanched. He reached over and clasped Meir’s shoulders. “You are absolutely right, my friend, and I thank you.” This young man’s warning may have just saved his life.
He turned and walked back down into the cellar, thanking his lucky stars that
there was still time for such a good deed to be inscribed onto his heavenly ledger.
Joheved was waiting for them with some cheese as well as bread, and Meir forced himself not to wolf down his share, no matter how hungry he was. Before she could say anything, Simon surprised her by agreeing to match whatever price the previous customer had paid. Joheved looked back and forth at the two men, who now seemed on the most amicable of terms. What on earth had transpired between them?
As they marked the casks his carter would collect later, Simon made friendly conversation. “Mistress, I must admit it is unusual to have so much wine still available this late in the season. You must have had a fruitful harvest last year.”
“I’m afraid not.” Her faced clouded and she fought back tears. “My father had saved this wine for my wedding, but a few weeks ago his mother died. So we are in mourning and there will be no wedding.”
No wedding! Meir sat down hard; it was as though he had just been punched in the gut. He listened in shock as Simon offered Joheved condolences on the loss of her grandmother. By this time, Meir’s head was swimming so badly that he was unable to stand and wave good-bye when Simon took his leave.
“Farewell, and shalom aleichem, Meir ben Samuel,” the older man saluted him. “I will offer a toast for your good fortune in the coming year whenever I drink this wine.”
“Shalom aleichem, indeed, Meir ben Samuel.” Joheved’s voice was slow and controlled as she approached him.
Meir couldn’t tell if she was hiding anger or amusement. He didn’t dare look at her.
Joheved was more astonished than anything else. She had been looking for him in vain for weeks, and now he appeared out of nowhere in her own cellar, just in time to hear from her own mouth that their wedding was off. Any annoyance she felt at being misled vanished when she saw how forlorn he looked, lying on the bench, arms crossed over his belly, face to the wall.
“Are you all right?” Had he really gotten so upset when he’d heard that they weren’t getting married? How flattering.
“Am I all right?” He turned to face her. “I haven’t had anything to eat since dawn, my stomach feels like a horse just kicked it, and my bride, who doesn’t even recognize me, just informed me that our wedding is canceled. And you ask me if I’m all right?” He tried to sit up, but his head hurt too much. With a grimace of pain, he reached out to support himself.
“Don’t move.” She helped him lie back down on the bench. “I’ll get you some food.”
Meir closed his eyes and berated himself for staring at her legs when he should have been noticing the tear at the neck of her chemise. How could he have missed that obvious sign of recent bereavement? And now what was going to happen to him?
His pessimistic thoughts were interrupted by the sensation of being watched, and he turned to see an orange-striped cat staring at him, less than an arm’s length away. To his surprise, the cat walked over to him and pushed its head under his hand. His horse liked its ears scratched, so he proceeded to do the same for the cat. He was rewarded with a loud purr and was soon so engrossed in petting the cat that he almost forgot his miserable situation.
Joheved heard Meir’s stomach growl as she came down the stairs with a large bowl of stew and two loaves of bread, and she tried not to smile. She was sure he hadn’t had such a nice beard the last time she’d seen him. No wonder she hadn’t recognized him. She let out a sigh of relief. Thank heaven this attractive man had turned out to be not such a stranger after all.
Meir finished his stew so quickly that Joheved insisted on bringing him a second helping. Ashamed at how he’d openly scrutinized her legs on the stairs earlier, he made a point of looking at her face as she returned to the kitchen. She smiled down at him in return.
He ate more slowly this time, while Joheved enlightened him about what her family had suffered recently. When he heard Joheved say that Salomon intended for him to live in Troyes despite their postponed nuptials, Meir was feeling almost happy. His bride-to-be had proved herself to be kind and forgiving of his less than admirable behavior. And she had very nice-looking legs. Feeling a rush of generosity, he left the last of his stew for the cat.
In the weeks that followed, Meir decided that, in spite of remaining unwed, life in Troyes was good. He enjoyed giving his young students their first taste of Talmud, watching their eyes light up with understanding and their faces shine with the pride that comes from mastering difficult material.
The grape harvest and winemaking went by in a blur, and then Rosh Hashanah was upon them. Meir’s family came to Troyes to worship, and he listened proudly as his female relatives praised Joheved’s skill in leading the complicated Yom Kippur service. Salomon and his father didn’t set a new wedding date, but Meir hoped he would not have to wait a full year of mourning.
Next came Sukkot, Festival of Booths, commemorating the temporary shelters the Israelites lived in as they wandered in the desert after leaving Egypt. The yeshiva students took great pleasure in building a sukkah in their maître’s courtyard. For seven days they would eat, study, and, if the weather was decent, sleep in the rickety structure, thus fulfilling the commandment to “dwell in the sukkah.”
Besides dwelling in the sukkah, Jews celebrated Sukkot with special blessings made while holding four varieties of plants, as it said in Leviticus: “Take the fruit of goodly trees, branches of palms, boughs of thick trees and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before your God seven days.” The fruit traditionally used for Sukkot was the etrog, or citron, considered “goodly” because it was both fragrant and flavorful. Thanks to the generosity of Hiyya ibn Ezra, who brought them all the way from Cairo, Salomon’s family was assured one of the beautiful fruits.
Joheved and Miriam couldn’t believe their good fortune at having their very own etrog. Even their pious grandmother had never been able to obtain one. For the whole week, it sat in its special dish, bright and yellow like a miniature sun. Any time they wanted, they could pick it up and inhale its sweet, citrusy perfume. Everyone who came to their house couldn’t help but stop and smell the etrog when they saw it.
Boys had a great time during the week of Sukkot. They held competitions, played ball games, and, when no adults were watching, gambled with nuts or dice. Meir was constantly being asked to lend out his horse. It was difficult to refuse, even though he knew the boys intended to race her. It was Sukkot—the Season of Simcha (Joy).
It wasn’t all fun and games for the girls. While the resident students were gone, Rivka had Joheved, Miriam and Anna replace the attic’s dirty straw. Sweeping up the old stalks and dumping them into the courtyard was easy. But the next part, carrying clean straw up a rickety ladder into the attic, was both awkward and a bit scary.
They were busy with carrying and spreading the stuff on the attic floor when Meir, having interrupted his studies to use the privy, stopped at the well to wash his hands. At this particular moment, Joheved was starting up the ladder with a load of straw while Miriam was waiting at the top to take it from her. Remembering what a prude her sister had been when she wanted to be alone with Benjamin, Miriam was struck with a mischievous idea. Joheved had indignantly told her how Meir had enjoyed watching her on the cellar stairs, and she couldn’t resist this opportunity to tease them.
After assuring herself that Anna was occupied at the rear of the attic, Miriam called out, “Meir, can you give us a hand and hold the ladder steady for Joheved?”
Meir couldn’t refuse—not that he wanted to—and Miriam chortled with glee at the furious look on her sister’s blushing face as Meir took hold of the ladder. Her initial notion was to tempt Meir with a view of Joheved’s legs as she climbed higher, but Miriam soon concocted a more devilish idea. She waited until Joheved’s hips were level with Meir’s shoulders, then gave the ladder an abrupt shake. When she peeked over the ledge, what she saw surpassed her wildest expectations.
Miriam had imagined her sister stopped with Meir’s upper body pressed against her legs as he steadied the lad
der. But instead, Joheved lost her balance entirely. Miriam watched open-mouthed as Joheved, falling backwards off the ladder, managed to knock Meir down as he attempted to catch her. They landed in a pile of debris from the attic.
For a moment they were too dazed to move, then Meir gently rolled Joheved off him and helped her up. “You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked, trying to brush the stems off his clothes.
Joheved shook her head. She ought to ask how he was, but she was too flustered to speak. Physically unharmed, she had never felt more embarrassed in her life. She glanced around the courtyard and thanked heaven that nobody was outside to see her and Meir lying in the straw together. Up in the attic, Miriam howled with laughter as she watched the couple awkwardly trying to remove the stalks from each other’s hair and clothes.
As much as she wanted to contain her mirth, Miriam was still giggling when Meir, insisting that Joheved rest a bit while he carried the straw upstairs, reached the attic and dropped his load at her feet. His inquisitive look made Miriam giggle even more, until it occurred to her that he might tell her father what had happened. Her smile froze and then disappeared as she returned his gaze. But he only winked at her, then climbed down to get more straw.
That night, it took great willpower on Miriam’s part not to laugh as she helped Joheved remove the final pieces of straw from her hair. And it took even more willpower on Joheved’s part not to accuse her sister of orchestrating the incident that neither one dared to acknowledge. But discomfited as she felt, Joheved had to admit that falling on top of Meir had not been a completely unpleasant experience.
Early the next morning, Salomon made his way to the courtyard sukkah and began prodding the bundles of cloaks and blankets containing Meir and the students to wake them for morning prayers. Meir was still trying to recapture the pleasant feeling of Joheved’s body on top of his, when his reverie was suddenly interrupted by a woman’s screams coming from the house.
