Daughter of Cana Read online

  Joanna smiled and sank onto a stool. “What did Yeshua say?”

  “Yes,” I echoed, frowning. “What did he say to make so many follow him?”

  The innkeeper’s wife chuckled. “Well, let me think. First, he told Photini everything she had ever done, though most of us could have given him that information. Photini was not exactly known for righteous works.”

  “Two days?” Jude interrupted. “He was here two days?”

  She lifted a brow. “Yes. He left this morning.”

  Jude turned to me. “We may be able to catch them before they reach Jerusalem—especially if Yeshua stops to teach in every town along the way.”

  “Wait.” I rubbed my forehead, troubled by a thought that had just occurred to me. “Why did he come through Samaria? No one takes the western road without a good reason.”

  “Perhaps he wanted to take the most direct route,” Jude replied.

  “Or perhaps he went where he was most needed,” Joanna said, lifting the boy onto her hip. “Clearly he was needed here.”

  Jude scrubbed his hand through his hair, then sighed. “We will have to catch them tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep so we can leave early in the morning.”

  “You won’t be able to miss him,” the Samaritan woman said. “A great crowd follows him now.”

  Jude frowned. “How many? A dozen?”

  She laughed. “A hundred at least. Everyone wants to hear him, and most people believe he is the Messiah. The way he explained God’s truth, we couldn’t help but believe in him.”

  “That’s it,” Jude said, heading toward the door. “I’ll bring the blankets so we can get our rest.”

  Leaving Joanna and the Samaritan woman inside, I hurried after Jude, grateful that I would be able to catch him alone. “Wait,” I called, lengthening my stride. “I would speak with you before we sleep.”

  He stopped and turned, revealing a face marked by exhaustion. “Yes?”

  I pressed my hands together and searched for the right words. “Does this not bother you? So many people follow him now—and many of them are Samaritans. How can your brother expect people to believe he is the promised king of Israel when he welcomes them to join him? I do not understand his message, and I cannot find a valid reason for his appeal—”

  “And you think I can?” His voice, like his face, was wracked with weariness.

  I sighed heavily, then shook my head. “I just keep asking myself: why would Thomas go with Yeshua? It is as if he heard a command I could not hear.”

  Jude stared at me for a moment, then nodded and turned toward the barn. “Exactly,” he said.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Tasmin

  The next morning, the innkeeper and his wife kindly gave us fruit and cheese to break our fast. Joanna and I took turns chewing the figs and giving small bites to the boy.

  “I wish we could put some meat on his bones before we reach Jerusalem,” Joanna said. “But at least the tunic covers his ribs.”

  We had picked up a small tunic at a market in Capernaum, and though the garment wasn’t extravagant, it did disguise the boy’s gaunt frame. With a clean face, smoothed hair, and closed lips, he almost looked like a normal child. Until he smiled.

  “Come on, little one.” I picked up the boy and settled him on my hip. “One more day on the donkey for you.”

  “Wait.” Joanna placed her hand on my arm and tilted her head toward the innkeeper’s wife. “She is kind, and I haven’t seen any children around this place. Do you think . . . ?”

  Leave the boy here? Two days ago I would not have hesitated to ask the woman if she wanted a child, but now?

  “I thought you wanted Yeshua to see the boy,” I said.

  She lifted a brow. “I thought you didn’t believe.”

  “I don’t. But if anyone can help him, I’d like to give him a chance. Even the priests at the Temple could pray for his healing.”

  Joanna sighed. “Come on, little one, it’s off to Jerusalem we go.”

  We had just placed the boy on the pack saddle when we saw an old man running toward us, leading a little girl by the hand. “Wait! Do not leave!”

  “What’s this?” Jude muttered under his breath. He glanced at me. “Have you been picking up other children?”

  “No.” I squinted at the man, not recalling his face. “Let us see what he wants.”

  “Ah, friends, thank you for waiting.” The old man stood before us, breathing heavily. When he had caught his breath, he pulled the little girl forward. “I am Ziv,” he said, dropping his hands to the girl’s shoulders, “and this is my granddaughter, Rahel. I have heard about Yeshua and the people he healed, but he was gone before I returned from a neighboring city. The innkeeper says you are going to find him. Please, I beg you—may we travel with you? I promise we will be no trouble.”

  Jude’s brows rushed together as he looked at me, then we both turned to Joanna. She shrugged as if to say, What does two more matter? Jude sighed and gave a nod. “We want to travel quickly—can you keep up?”

  “I will,” the old man said, “and Rahel is a fast walker. Sometimes I think she has more energy than I do.” He released a strained laugh, and the little girl looked up at us with wide eyes. Seeing her, so innocent and young . . . how could anyone refuse them?

  “Jude—” Joanna began.

  “It’s fine. Come with us, then.”

  Wasting no time, Jude took the donkey’s rope and led the animal to the gate. Joanna and I moved to our usual places, and the old man fell into step beside me.

  “I am sorry to intrude,” he said, his voice rasping. “And forgive me for being out of breath. I ran up the road because I was afraid you would get away before I could catch you. I would make the journey myself, but the roads are not safe for an old man and a child. The lestes, you know. And the Romans.”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  When the girl stumbled, Ziv swung her into his arms. We hadn’t taken more than fifty steps when he eyed the boy on the donkey. “I wonder if the beast could manage another child,” he said, breathing more heavily than ever. “I wouldn’t ask, but the girl is like dead weight when she sleeps, and she’s sleeping now . . .”

  “Jude, will you stop?”

  Jude tossed a frown over his shoulder, but halted. The old man struggled to lift the girl—she must have been five or six, so she was not small—and Jude helped him. With water jugs dangling from both sides of the pack saddle, we had to position Rahel’s legs in front of the water containers and place the boy in front of her.

  “Poor donkey,” I whispered to Joanna. “We will owe him an apology after this.”

  Joanna’s mouth twitched with amusement. “I’m praying the Lord doesn’t give him the gift of speech like He did for Balaam’s beast. He’d be sure to complain.”

  We settled into the journey, knowing we still had quite a distance to walk. Yeshua and Thomas had to walk it as well, I reminded myself, so I ought to calm my anxious heart and rest in the knowledge that we would soon find them. After all, a handful of people could travel more quickly than a hundred.

  The countryside around us basked in sunshine that hinted of a scorching day to come. Even though we were surrounded by brown sand and white rocks, occasionally I spotted patches of wild grass and splatters of colorful wildflowers. Behind us, shreds of gray clouds hung like rags on the shoulders of Mount Ebal, where Joshua once built an altar to HaShem.

  Though Jude was anxious to reach Jerusalem, he exhibited a thoughtfulness that must have frustrated his desire to reach the Holy City. When we grew thirsty, he stopped so we could drink and rest in the shade. When the boy cried from hunger, he stopped so Joanna and I could feed him. And when Rahel fell off the donkey in the grip of a fit, Jude stopped and allowed the old man to comfort her until the fit passed. Then Jude found a stream so Joanna could clean the tunic the girl had soiled while in the grip of the demon.

  For people who were planning to reach Jerusalem before sunset, we took a very long time
. Finally, Jude and I realized we would not reach the Holy City in time to celebrate the Passover with our brothers. The next day, Nisan 14, would find us hours away from the Holy City.

  We swallowed our disappointment as best we could.

  “Perhaps Yeshua will linger in Jerusalem,” I told Jude. “We may still find them.”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed. “And if not, we will ask people where they have gone.” He released a weary laugh. “I’m sure they will have heard about Yeshua’s arrival. He has a gift for attracting attention.”

  “I am in no rush,” Joanna announced, running her fingers through the boy’s curls as he slept on the donkey’s back. “I will offer to serve whenever we find Yeshua. All will be as Adonai wills.”

  The old man said nothing but clung to Rahel’s hand as we searched ahead for a place to spend the night.

  The city of Ephraim was not near the highway, but it was a Jewish settlement and in Judea, so we headed toward it as the day of Passover drew to a close. We passed through the city gates in late afternoon, and Jude asked one of the elders if he knew of a family who would welcome strangers to their dinner. The elder introduced himself as Abel and invited us to his home. “I have come from the Holy City to spend Passover with my aged father,” he said, leaving his seat to escort us to his house. “I will count it an honor to have guests join us in our meal.”

  Abel, his wife, his father, and his eldest daughter lived in a modest home near the center of the city. We were warmly welcomed by Abigail, Abel’s wife, and the daughter hastily arranged for more seating. A series of trays stood in the center of the main room, and each held an element of the traditional Seder: the unleavened bread or matzah; the bitter herbs to represent the bitter lot of the Hebrews under Egyptian slavery; and the mixture of fruit and nuts, the Charoset, to represent the mortar the Hebrews used to build monuments for the Egyptian kings. We were missing the sacrificial lamb, which would only be obtainable by those in Jerusalem.

  Abel poured a cup of wine for Elijah and set it on a tray, then propped open the door of his house in hope that the prophet would appear. “As Malachi wrote,” our host began, “Adonai said, ‘Behold, I am going to send you Elijah the prophet, before the coming of the great and terrible day of Adonai.’ May the prophet come, and hasten the arrival of our messiah.”

  After the traditional ceremony, as the men relaxed and the women took the dishes away, the talk turned to what had happened in Jerusalem the day before. As his aged father reclined on a couch and slept, Abel leaned forward, his dark brows arching into triangles. “Never has anyone done anything like it! Right in front of the chief priests and Pharisees, with everyone watching, a Galilean walked up to the money tables and flipped them over! His face was as red as blood, and he shouted, frightening the animals and setting the shepherds to flight.” He rubbed a finger over his lips as he laughed. “You’ve never seen so many doves flapping about—their cages broke up when the tables went over.”

  Jude gave our host a bleak, tight-lipped smile. “This act was committed by a man from Galilee?”

  Abel narrowed his eyes. “I never learned his name, but he had a group of men with him—women, too. They shrank back when he began to overturn the tables, but some of them looked as though they might be willing to add to the mayhem. But before anyone could do anything to stop him, the man slipped through the crowd and disappeared.”

  “What—” Jude squeezed the bridge of his nose—“what reason did this man give for causing such destruction? Or did he simply create a disturbance and flee?”

  Our host’s eyes shone as he leaned forward. “Oh, he was not afraid to speak his mind. He stood in the center of the outer court and shouted, ‘Is it not written, My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations? But you have made it a den of robbers.’” Abel barked a laugh. “I’ve always thought it a sin to charge double for the animals we have to sacrifice, but no one has ever protested such cheating. Yet this man did it in front of the chief priests and the teachers of the Law. And everyone, I tell you, was amazed. Everyone wanted to know who he was and where he came from. I’m sure the word is all over Jerusalem by now, yet all I have learned is that the man was a Nazarene.”

  “Are you certain”—Jude’s voice sounded strangled—“he was from Nazareth?”

  Our host grinned. “Right. Everyone started looking for him, but he and his people slipped out of the city before anyone could stop him. I left, too, because I had to get home. I kept hoping I would see him on the road.” He reached over and patted his father’s hand. “I had to be home to be with Abba and my family.”

  The old man sleepily patted his son’s hand, then went back to snoring.

  “We are glad you were here.” Joanna smiled. “And we are grateful for your hospitality. We will trouble you no more, but we ought to make our way to the city square.”

  “You will not leave us,” the wife said, rising. “You will sleep here. Abel, get blankets and fresh straw. I cannot let you sleep outside, not with the girl and the little boy.”

  I smiled at Joanna, grateful she had mentioned sleep. My eyelids were so heavy I could scarcely keep them open, and sleeping in the city square was neither comfortable nor safe, especially for women and children.

  We split the front room, with Ziv and Jude on one side, and Joanna, me, and the children on the other. Once we had bedded down and our hosts had gone to sleep, Jude reached out and tapped my shoulder. “This is what I tried to warn him about,” he whispered, and I knew instantly who he was talking about. “He believes he is on a mission from God, but he’s going to create more enemies than converts. If what Abel said is true—”

  “It must be,” I interrupted. “Why would he lie?”

  “Then this is just the beginning of trouble. I’m sure your brother was with him in the Temple court—along with James and John, Peter and Andrew, and others who will soon be sorry they decided to follow him.”

  “Don’t worry.” I was so tired I was beginning to slur my words. “We will find them soon, and we will bring them home. They have not yet been arrested. Perhaps they never will be.”

  “They can be arrested whenever the authorities decide to step in,” Jude said. “I can only pray we find them first.”

  Because Nisan 15 was the Feast of Unleavened Bread and a special Sabbath, we remained with Abel and his family, worshiping at the synagogue in Ephraim, then returning to Abel’s home to rest. I watched Abel’s respectful interaction with his aged father—how they conversed during the meal, and how Abel tenderly guided his father from the dining couch to his bed for an afternoon nap.

  I closed my eyes to the sight as a surge of rage caught me by surprise. Thomas should be home with our father, not walking all over Judea in pursuit of a long-prophesied king. My brother should be home, working in our business, helping Abba oversee the date grove, helping me with my baking. HaShem could not possibly mean for Thomas—or any other sons of Israel—to drop their responsibilities and travel around the land stirring up trouble. Especially at the Temple.

  On the first day of the week, my ninth day without Thomas, we rose with the sun, partook of the meal Abel and Abigail graciously offered, and thanked them again for their hospitality. Then we set out for Jerusalem, even though we realized Yeshua might have already left the city.

  “I hope,” Jude said, scanning the road ahead, “to see someone we know. I am certain the Temple incident has upset most of his followers. Surely some have deserted his cause and will be on their way home. If so, we may speak to them and learn of his whereabouts. Never fear, Tasmin, we will find those we seek.”

  Though we traveled against the prevailing traffic, when we stopped to rest we mingled with travelers who were eager to share the latest news from Jerusalem. We heard several reports about the disturbance at the Temple, and witnesses described it in terms ranging from “riotous” to “a righteous act of indignation.” One man said a mob had invaded the courtyard, overturned the tables, and stolen the money in the treasury boxe
s; another said dozens of animals had been set free to roam the streets of Jerusalem.

  “The Galilean made a whip out of cords,” another man told us. “He drove every creature from the Temple area, sheep and cattle and bulls, and scattered the coins of the money changers as if they were forbidden objects. To those who sold doves, he said, ‘How dare you turn my Father’s house into a market!’”

  “The Temple authorities came out immediately,” a woman told us. “And demanded to know by whose authority he had ransacked the money tables. Then they demanded a miraculous sign to prove he had been sent by HaShem.”

  Jude scoffed. “I presume he gave them no proof.”

  “He gave them words,” the woman replied. “He said, ‘Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.’”

  I lifted a brow, astounded by the alleged answer. Herod spent forty-six years building the Temple, so how could anyone raise it in three days?

  When the woman left us, I glanced at Jude. “Has your brother gone mad?”

  “It would appear so,” he answered, his voice flat. “And I have heard enough. Come, let us get the others and be on our way. The sooner we find Yeshua, the sooner we can put an end to this foolishness.”

  Our goal was simple, our purpose forthright, but HaShem had other plans for us. As we neared the outskirts of the Holy City, we heard the strident keening of mourners. A few paces farther brought us to a group of weeping men and women, who sat in ashes and torn garments. When Jude asked about the cause of their lamentation, one of the men looked up and answered in three words: “John is dead.”

  Joanna’s hand went to her throat. “John the Immerser?”

  A weeping woman rose from her knees and staggered toward us. “It happened a few days ago,” she said, struggling to find her voice. “At Antipas’s birthday banquet.”