Daughter of Cana Page 17

  As we ate in silence, I realized Ziv and Rahel had slipped away. I stood and searched, spotting the old man in the long line snaking up the hill. Rahel stood by his side, her face as blank as parchment.

  The sight of the girl’s stony face sent a tremor scooting up the back of my neck. “Jude”—I kept my eyes on Rahel as they inched closer to Yeshua—“do you see Ziv? He’s down there.”

  Jude rose and came to stand beside me. We watched in silence as Ziv stepped closer, now only ten paces away, then eight. Rahel’s face remained blank, but one of her arms had begun to jerk spasmodically.

  “Jude . . .”

  When Ziv stepped toward Yeshua, Rahel arched her back and released a scream that pierced heart and soul alike. She wrenched her hand away from her grandfather, then straightened and glared at Yeshua, her face contorting into a grimace unlike anything I had ever seen.

  I stared, horrified, as Yeshua bent and said something to her. Whatever he said made her close her eyes. Her chest lifted and fell in a mighty heave as a flock of birds rose from a nearby stand of trees and took flight over the sea.

  Yeshua placed his hand on Rahel’s shoulder. The girl opened her eyes and smiled, then threw her arms around his neck.

  Ziv knelt at Rahel’s side and drew his granddaughter into his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked up at Yeshua.

  Speechless, I turned to Jude, who had turned toward the sea. “That—that was impossible.”

  Jude lowered his gaze. “What?”

  “What I saw—that was impossible. Rahel was in the grip of the demon, and then she was herself again.”

  Jude tugged at his beard. “Did you notice the birds? The entire flock dove into the water.”

  I looked toward the sea, but I saw only its silver-blue surface reflecting the sun.

  “Rahel appears to be well. Yeshua healed her.”

  A muscle flexed in Jude’s jaw as he crossed his arms. “I suppose Ziv will be leaving us now. He will be convinced—until the girl has another fit.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Tasmin

  We did not have an opportunity to speak to Yeshua that day. As the sun balanced on the western horizon, Yeshua disappeared, leaving just as Jude and I were getting ready to approach him. One of the women said Yeshua typically went down to the water’s edge, where he could launch out in a boat and rest on the waves. The twelve had gone with him while most of the local people had gone home. Those who had come from a distance camped on the hillside, erecting makeshift tents and building small campfires.

  Fortunately, we were accustomed to sleeping under the stars, so we did the same.

  The next morning, we rose with the sun and climbed the hill in search of food for the boy. While I waited to see if Joanna or Susanna could find something soft enough for him to eat, I studied the women working with Yeshua. The women worked well together, putting their hands to whatever needed to be done: doling out water to the thirsty, comforting the sick who had come to be healed, preparing food, or directing those with livestock to the watering trough by the lake. One woman looked familiar—she wore her long dark hair tied back with a leather strip, and her tunic looked new. She appeared to be middle-aged and would have been pretty in her younger days, for her face was symmetrical and her eyes large. She did not speak much, but when she smiled, her eyes lit with unmistakable joy and something that looked like relief . . .

  When she handed a dish to Joanna, I saw a scar on her arm, and the truth hit me like a blow to the belly: we had seen this woman outside Magdala. It was she who had roared up from the graveyard and attacked Jude. Only a few days ago, this woman had been a lunatic.

  I tugged on Jude’s sleeve and pointed. “Do you recognize her?”

  He turned and looked. “Should I?”

  “We saw her outside Magdala.” His eyes remained blank. “She attacked you.”

  He blinked, then startled. “Not possible.”

  “I’m sure it’s the same woman. She has the same scar on her arm.”

  I didn’t realize how loudly I had been speaking until Mary came over and sat next to Jude. She slipped her arm around his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his temple. “My son,” she said, patting his hand. “I am so glad you have come. Have you greeted your aunt Salome? She is with us.”

  “Not yet.” He blushed under his mother’s obvious affection. “It has not been easy to find you, but I am glad we did. I wanted to see if I could convince Yeshua to come back to Nazareth.”

  Mary patted his hand again, then looked toward the woman with the scarred arm. “I noticed you looking at Miriam. From your reaction, Tasmin, I thought you might have seen her before.”

  It was my turn to blush. “We—we did encounter her,” I admitted, stammering. “She attacked Jude when we passed by Magdala. But she looked nothing like—she looked very different.”

  “Yeshua delivered her,” Mary said, a smile lighting her face. “She had been possessed by seven devils. Hard to imagine, but she’s had a rough life. Trouble at home, broken family, a lost baby—she had gone to Tiberias to beg for an audience with Antipas, and there she fell into company with a necromancer. But that is all over, and now she is whole. Restored.”

  The woman looked up, undoubtedly feeling the pressure of our inquisitive eyes, and her face softened when her gaze met Mary’s. She came over, squeezed Mary’s hand, and went back to work.

  “All of us,” Mary said, gesturing to the women, “have decided to remain with Yeshua until he no longer needs us. We will do whatever we can to make things easier for him.”

  Jude’s face darkened with unreadable emotions. I knew he worried about his brother and feared for his mother. If Yeshua ran into trouble with the authorities, the trouble would be of his own making. Mary, on the other hand, was innocent, a sincere woman who only wanted to support her son . . .

  “Ima”—Jude reached for her hand—“you are no longer a young woman, and the family needs you. James, Joses, and Simeon are home in Nazareth where they belong. Damaris and Pheodora are with their husbands and children. They need you. Your grandchildren need you. Everyone is sick with worry about you—”

  Mary patted his hand. “They do not need to worry about me, son. I don’t expect you to understand, but I have spent years preparing myself for what is to come. When the sword pierces my soul, I will be ready.”

  “The sword pierces . . . what sword?” Jude scrubbed his hands through his hair in wordless frustration. Face flushed, he stared at his mother. “Ima, it doesn’t take a prophet to realize that your eldest son has run afoul of the Torah scholars and chief priests. The Romans are wary of any Judean who claims to be a prophet. Have you forgotten what happened to John? Yeshua is on a path marked for trouble and . . .”

  He broke off when a group of men crested the hill and stood silhouetted by the rising sun. There was Yeshua, flanked by his chosen disciples.

  I felt a warm glow within me when I spotted a familiar form. After so many long days and restless nights, finally I would speak to the man I had been seeking. “Thomas!” I ran toward my brother.

  “Ooof!”

  I nearly knocked the breath from Thomas’s body when I embraced him. “Thomas, you can’t know how good it is to see you!”

  “Tasmin!” His face brightened as he lifted me off the ground. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you.”

  He released me and gave me a warm smile, then glanced toward Yeshua and the others, who were walking toward the women. They were no doubt hungry and ready to break their fast, but Thomas’s stomach would have to wait.

  “Brother.” I pulled on his beard, forcing him to look at me. “I have been searching for you since the wedding. I have walked for days, slept under the stars, been attacked by a madwoman and a group of lestes, and picked up all sorts of stragglers, all of whom wanted to see this Yeshua who so fascinates you. So give me your attention, please. I need to talk to you.”

  “All that? I am glad you are all righ
t.” He drew a deep breath and gripped my shoulders. “I’d like to introduce you to Yeshua—or did you meet him at the wedding?”

  “I was too busy working, if you recall. You would have been working with me, if you had not found other people more fascinating.”

  Though I tried to adopt a serious tone, I couldn’t help but smile because I was overjoyed to see him. I wanted to remain angry about how he left without warning, yet I couldn’t stay mad at Thomas. Everything could easily be forgiven and forgotten if he would agree to come home. We would pick up where we left off, working together, talking together, making plans for the future—

  “Listen, sister.” Thomas tightened his grip on my shoulders. “When I left, I told you I wasn’t sure if Yeshua was the one we’ve been waiting for. But now I know he is the promised Messiah. I have watched him closely, and oh, the things I have seen! I have seen the lame healed. I have seen the blind receive their sight, even a man born blind! I have seen the dead restored to life and tax collectors repent of their thievery! One of them walks with us now. Like John the Immerser, Yeshua is changing the hearts of many, and I—”

  “Hush.” I pressed my fingertips to his lips. “I have been following you, so I’ve heard all the stories. I know Yeshua’s fame is growing every day, but this kind of fame is not good. The Torah teachers and Temple authorities are not pleased with the way he has stirred up the people. I have been traveling with his brother Jude, and he fears for Yeshua. It is time, Thomas, for you to come home. Our father is not well, so say your farewells here and come home with me.”

  When he did not agree immediately, I realized I had not used the gently persuasive words I wanted to use or spoken the way I wanted to speak. I had hoped to get Thomas in a quiet place, where I could make him laugh, make him miss me, and tell him something that would soften his heart. Then I could have made headway; I could have worked on his sympathies. But I had taken advantage of an opportunity and now I would have to accept the result.

  I lifted my chin and saw Thomas staring at me as if I had suddenly grown a third head. “Go home? I cannot leave.”

  “Of course you can. Are you a slave? You took no vow to serve this man, so bid him farewell and come home. He will understand. Any righteous man would understand that you need to see to your father’s needs.”

  “No one,” Thomas said, his voice softening, “who has put his hand to the plow and looked back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

  I stared at my twin, who suddenly seemed a stranger. How could this be the man with whom I had shared a womb? “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying”—he spoke slowly, as if to a child—“that the work of God must come first. I have put my hand to the plow and I cannot look back.”

  Unbidden tears sprang to my eyes. “What of our father? Would you forget about the one who gave you life? Who has supported you in every endeavor without reservation?”

  The thin line of Thomas’s mouth clamped tight for a moment, then he swallowed. “My father is a righteous man. And if he understood what I have discovered, he would encourage me to remain with Yeshua. If he were younger, he would count himself blessed to be here with me. Oh, how I wish he had come with you, so he could hear the words of the Lord for himself!”

  I took a step back, horrified and offended by his use of the word Lord for Jude’s brother.

  “I cannot believe what I am hearing,” I said as a trembling rose from somewhere in the center of my chest. “I cannot believe you would commit such blasphemy and ascribe it to Abba, as well.”

  “I have been watching Yeshua,” Thomas went on, his voice calmer. “You know me—I am not one to endorse an endeavor without being certain of it. I have seen the Scriptures fulfilled before my eyes, Tasmin! If you would only look, you would see the truth, too.”

  “I would not.” I shook my head. “Not even Yeshua’s family supports him, and they know him better than anyone. Jude says he has always been aloof, even odd, and all of this is bound to bring trouble to the family and destroy his mother. Look at Mary! Think of her!”

  Thomas smiled. “Mary believes in him. She does not speak often, but I can tell she knows things she has not shared with us. Even when Yeshua speaks of the trials that lie ahead, she holds her tongue and does not argue with him. What sort of mother would do that unless she understood he was called to fulfill a higher purpose?”

  “I know little of mothers,” I replied, struggling to overcome a sudden urge to weep, “and you used to understand that. You used to understand everything I felt, but here I am, trying to make you see what you need to do, and I feel as though I am speaking a language you no longer understand.”

  “I cannot go home with you.” Thomas winced in remorse. “But you could stay with us. You could join the women here. I know the others would welcome you.”

  I looked at the women working on the hillside. None of them seemed anxious or unhappy—in fact, they seemed delighted to be doing such humble work. Joanna smiled as she wiped the faces of children who had gotten dirty while playing on the hill, and Susanna sang as she mended a tear in a woman’s tunic.

  Could I stay? I would be with Thomas . . .

  Mixed feelings surged through me, then one conviction became clear: I didn’t want to share my brother with these people, and I had been away from Abba long enough. Clearly, I would need time to convince Thomas to leave, but I could not work for a man whose cause I did not support.

  No more than I could allow my brother to delude himself.

  “Thomas—” I turned him toward the sea so he would see no one but me—“I know why you left the way you did. I understand why Yeshua’s message appeals to you. He speaks of new beginnings, repentance, starting over, and I know you would love to do that. But you can’t run from the past. You can’t run from what happened. You and I are guilty and we always will be.”

  His expression changed—memory hardened his eyes, and a somber thought tightened the corners of his mouth. For a moment I thought he would pretend he did not know what I meant, but how could he forget? I remembered every detail of that day and always would.

  He shook his head. “That happened so long ago . . . we were children.”

  “But it happened. And we are both to blame.”

  He drew a deep breath and looked away, his hand patting his side in a frantic rhythm. “Will we never be free of it, Tasmin?”

  “How can we be free? Our mother died because of us. Our father has lived alone because of us. We owe him.”

  Thomas lowered his head and blinked back tears. “I know what you are saying is true, but Yeshua gives me hope. If HaShem has truly sent him, perhaps there is a way—”

  “To forget? Impossible.” I blew out a breath, then squeezed my brother’s shoulders. “I will stay a little longer, but only because I want to spend time with you. I want to understand why Yeshua gives you hope. If you can explain it to me, maybe I can help Abba understand why you’ve left us.”

  “I haven’t left you. You will always be my sister.”

  “Being and being there are not the same, brother.”

  Thomas waved my words away. “I am glad you will stay. I know Yeshua will welcome you. We’ve had people coming and going ever since we left Cana. One day we are a small group, the next we are over a thousand.” He forced a smile. “Having another mouth to feed is not a problem. The other day Yeshua fed a gathering of more than five thousand men—and their women and children—with five little barley loaves and two small fish.”

  I scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I saw it with my own eyes. Andrew found a small boy who had packed a lunch. They brought the food to Yeshua, who took it, gave thanks for it, and broke the loaves and fish into pieces, then gave them to us to distribute. We kept returning for more, and the Lord kept handing out bread and fish until every man, woman, and child on the hillside had a full belly.”

  I gave my brother a reproving look. “I know what happened—once you began to hand out bread and fish, the people pu
lled out the food they had hidden among their supplies. Once everyone began to share, the food appeared to multiply—”

  Thomas shook his head. “We gave out barley loaf and dried fish. The people ate barley loaf and dried fish. And when we took up the remnants, our baskets—twelve basketfuls—held barley loaf and dried fish. Nothing else. The people were so impressed by the miracle that they rose up to take Yeshua by force and proclaim him king. Realizing what they were about to do, he had to hide on the mountain.” Thomas stroked his beard and looked at me, his eyes bright. “Can you not see why HaShem has sent him? The time might not yet be right, but imagine a king who can feed his army without having to haul supplies! A king who can heal the wounded and keep his army fit for marching. A king who can resurrect those who are struck down by the enemy. Other nations are terrified by the Romans, but Yeshua, son of David, will defeat them by the power of Adonai. And then we will enter into a new Israel, the kingdom of God.”

  Disbelief and loyalty warred in my heart as I stared at my brother. Yeshua had clearly convinced Thomas and the other disciples, and yet I knew the erstwhile carpenter was no warrior king. I had been traveling with Jude, and Jude was no fool. He knew the Scriptures, he knew his brother, and he did not believe Yeshua was meant to be a king.

  He would have to help me convince Thomas to leave this dangerous imposter.

  “I will stay a little while,” I repeated, gripping Thomas’s arm, “but whenever Jude is ready to return home, I will go with him. And I will be praying that you will agree to come with me.”

  “Pray all you want,” Thomas said. “As for me, I will follow Yeshua until the end.” He gave me a smile as he walked away, but it was not the smile of a happy man.

  For someone who had just proclaimed his loyalty to Israel’s next king, I had to wonder about the reason for his lack of confidence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Jude

  I waited until the growl of nighttime conversations ceased and the grumble of snoring began. All around me, the disciples slept on the ground, covered only by their cloaks and the security of their conviction that they had enlisted in a holy cause. I did not share their conviction, yet I had more in common with Yeshua than any of them.