Daughter of Cana Page 18

  When everyone had stilled, save the man who had been appointed to keep watch, I rose from my place, pulled my cloak around my shoulders, and went in search of my brother. I expected to find him near James and John, the two who seemed his closest confidants, but I spotted them sleeping near a fire. Neither was Yeshua near Peter, the overeager fisherman. I did not find him near Thomas, who seemed to frown even in his sleep, nor near Andrew or Judas.

  Yet when I turned toward the moonlit lake, I spotted a solitary figure sitting atop an overturned boat, a mantle wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Brown hair fringed the top of the fabric—Yeshua.

  I strode through the grasses until I reached the shoreline. Yeshua seemed not to notice my approach, for his eyes were fixed on the moon’s wavering reflection and his lips moved silently, as if in prayer. When I finally stood beside the boat, my arms crossed in patient forbearance, the corner of his mouth twisted in a wry smile.

  “Why can you not sleep?” He looked over at me. “We have worked all day, and you are bound to be weary.”

  “You have worked, I have listened,” I countered. “You should be weary.”

  “I am. But I have things to discuss with my Father.”

  I exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Look, brother, I came here to find you. I have tried to speak to you several times, but apparently you have had no time for family.”

  The moonlight gilded my brother’s face as he turned and stretched his hand toward his sleeping disciples. “There are my mother and my brothers and my sisters. Whoever does the will of my Father in heaven, he is my brother and sister and mother.”

  I spat on the ground, irritated by his answer. “Look—you are the eldest, you should be the most responsible, but you have left James, Joses, Simeon, and I to do the work our father trained us to do.”

  “Don’t you know that I must be about the things of my Father?”

  “Our father is dead.” I blew out an exasperated breath. “I have received a commission—a bed for a wealthy merchant—and none of us is capable of doing the carving. We need you to come home and work for the family. For our mother’s sake. For all of us.”

  A cloud moved in front of the moon, darkening the light that had lit Yeshua’s face. “Where is your faith, Jude? If you first seek the kingdom of God and His righteousness, all the things you need shall be added to you. So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” He sighed and turned back to the sea. “Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

  What could I say? I had walked for days, eaten locusts, endured a beating, wrestled with a madwoman, and tolerated endless hours of chattering women for nothing. Clearly, Yeshua had no intention of coming home. Not only did he seem implacable, but my mother would refuse to help me convince him, for she seemed fully committed to his foolhardy campaign.

  I had failed. I had wasted precious time and a lot of the money Chanon Phineas had given me to buy materials for his anniversary bed. The merchant would want his deposit returned, and how could I earn anything while traveling?

  Yeshua had left me with no options. My other brothers were waiting for me in Nazareth, and time was slipping away. I had promised to deliver a bed worthy of a king, and unless someone could teach me the skills of a master craftsman in a very short time, I would have to break my word.

  Our reputation would be ruined, if Yeshua’s activities hadn’t ruined it already.

  “So be it.” I lifted my head to meet Yeshua’s eye. “We will simply have to accept the hard truth: you have abandoned us.”

  A rising breeze blew the curtain of cloud away, allowing the moonlight to illuminate Yeshua’s face again. I saw pain in his countenance and hurt in his eyes, and wondered why he could not see the same emotions in me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Tasmin

  Jude wanted to leave the next morning, but somehow I persuaded him to tarry a few more days. I wanted time to quietly work on Thomas—perhaps, I reasoned, seeing me would make him remember his obligations. He would think of Abba and the date palms that needed a younger man to mount a ladder and harvest the fruit.

  Jude might have been thinking similar thoughts, because he spent hours listening to his brother’s teachings. I did not have as much time to sit and listen—I kept busy feeding, entertaining, and chasing the boy, who was no longer the emaciated child we had found on the side of the road. Good food and consistent attention had put meat on his bones, and he had become quite active. Though he remained silent, he compensated for his lack of verbal skills with a flurry of gestures.

  One afternoon, as the boy napped with his head in my lap, a man in the crowd stood and asked Yeshua about his plans for the future. “We know you are the son of David,” the man said, “so tell us about the coming kingdom of God.”

  Yeshua smiled and leaned forward, gripping the edge of the rock where he sat. “How should we picture the kingdom of God? Or by what story shall we present it? It is like a mustard seed when it’s planted in the ground. Though the smallest of all seeds in the earth, yet when planted it grows up and becomes the largest of all the herbs. It puts forth big branches, so the birds of the air can nest in its shade.”

  I glanced at Jude. “What does that mean?”

  Jude shrugged. “He woos them with elusive word pictures. If they don’t make sense, no one can hold him to a specific promise.”

  I spotted Thomas sitting with several other disciples. His face bore an inward look of deep abstraction—he was thinking hard but not about me, for he hadn’t looked in my direction all day.

  In that moment I knew we would be foolish to wait any longer. “Whenever you say,” I whispered to Jude, “I am ready to go home.”

  While Jude and I both knew we were not likely to bring our brothers home, we also realized that once we left the coastal area, we might not see them for months. So, in a desperate effort to understand what had pulled them away from us, we spent the rest of the week with Yeshua and his followers.

  Thomas and the other disciples seemed to support Yeshua without question, yet I often heard bickering when I walked among them, so they were far from being totally submissive to their master. I once heard Simon Peter mutter that he had forgiven a friend three times for the same offense, and there ought to be a limit to how many times a sin must be forgiven. James and John, the two boisterous sons of Zebedee, argued over who would have to keep watch during the night, and Judas Iscariot frequently grumbled that they had already spent plenty to feed the poor, so couldn’t they pay for at least one night at a comfortable inn?

  One day a large contingent of Pharisees approached the listeners, then stood in a dark, disapproving huddle as Yeshua taught his followers. We had spent all morning sitting in bright sunlight and we were hungry and hot. At midday, when the afternoon sun bore down on our heads, Yeshua stopped teaching. The local people pulled out food they’d brought from home, and Yeshua walked over to the women, who had been busy preparing a meal for the disciples.

  Jude had walked to the nearest town and bought bread and cheese for us. I broke off pieces of bread for Jude, the boy, and myself, and watched, idly curious, as Yeshua took one of the loaves the women had provided, held it up, and blessed it. He then passed it to Simon Peter, who ravenously tore off a bite before handing it to John. The mood among the disciples was casual, and everyone seemed pleased to relax for a while.

  Then one of the Pharisees pulled away from his fellows and approached Yeshua, his stern face a stark contrast to the disciples’ easygoing smiles. “Teacher,” he called, his voice lined with iron, “why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? They don’t wash their hands before they eat.”

  Yeshua hadn’t washed his hands either, but apparently the Pharisees preferred to stop short of criticizing the man many considered a prophet. I rose onto my knees, eager to listen, and Jude stopped eating, his eyes thoughtful as he watched his brother.

  Yeshua turned to his disciples with an exaggerated expression—We didn’t wash? Then he
looked at the Torah teacher, his expression shifting to seriousness. “Why do you transgress the commandment of God for the sake of your tradition? For God said, ‘Honor your father and mother’ and ‘He who speaks evil of father or mother must be put to death.’ But you say, ‘Whoever tells his father or mother, Whatever you might have gained from me is a gift to God, he need not honor his father.’ On account of your tradition, you make void the word of God.” A warning cloud settled over his features. “Hypocrites! Rightly did Isaiah prophesy about you, saying, ‘This people honors Me with their lips, but their heart is far from Me. And in vain they worship Me, teaching as doctrines the commandments of men.’”

  As Jude and I stared at each other with wide eyes, Yeshua lifted his voice so the entire gathering could hear. “Hear and understand: It’s not what goes into the mouth that makes the man unholy; but what comes out of the mouth, this makes the man unholy.”

  Yeshua turned back to the Pharisees and shook his head. “Make every effort to enter through the narrow door; for many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able. Once the Master of the household gets up and shuts the door, and you’re standing outside and begin knocking on the door, saying, ‘Master, open up for us,’ then He will say to you, ‘I don’t know where you come from.’ Then you will start to say, ‘We ate and drank in Your company, and You taught in our streets.’ But He will say, ‘I tell you, I don’t know where you come from. Get away from Me, all of you evildoers!’”

  Some of the Pharisees bristled openly at this, but Yeshua had not finished. “Listen”—he held up a warning hand—“there will be weeping and the gnashing of teeth when you see Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and all the prophets in the kingdom of God, but you yourselves thrown out. And they will come from the east and west and from the north and south, and they will recline at table in the kingdom of God. And indeed, some are last who shall be first, and some are first who shall be last.”

  As the Pharisees gathered up their long robes and stalked away, I turned to Jude. “What is the kingdom of God? Has he ever explained it to you?”

  Jude watched the departing Pharisees with an odd mingling of wariness and amusement in his eyes. “Never,” he said, shifting his gaze to meet mine, “but we all know what Daniel wrote about the kingdom of God and the Son of Man. ‘He will come with the clouds of heaven and will be brought into the presence of the Ancient of Days. Dominion, glory, and sovereignty will be given to Him that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve Him. His dominion will be an everlasting dominion that will never pass away, and His kingdom will never be destroyed.’”

  “And . . . Yeshua is not the Son of Man.”

  Jude blew out a breath. “Do you believe my brother capable of establishing an everlasting kingdom?”

  I bit my lip. “He cast a demon out of Ziv’s granddaughter. And he may have turned water into wine.”

  Jude pulled his shoulders back and lifted his chin. “My brother is not the messiah, nor did he arrive in the clouds of heaven. No, Tasmin. If Yeshua ever has a kingdom, its people will be these.” He extended his hand to the poor villagers on the hillside. “Do you see warriors? Do you see an army? No. You see common folk who yearn for hope and comfort. That is what Yeshua gives them.”

  “But they are willing to serve him,” I remarked, looking toward the disciples. Thomas seemed perfectly at home among the twelve and would probably remain so until Yeshua retired from wandering about the countryside.

  I pressed my lips together, remembering the Pharisees who had been furious when they departed. If they had their way, Yeshua’s retirement would come sooner rather than later.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Tasmin

  After sleeping amid a symphony of snoring from those encamped nearby, I rose at sunrise, stretched my stiff muscles, and looked around. Most of Yeshua’s audience had departed the day before, returning to their homes and families. Shabbat would commence at sunset, and I wondered if Yeshua planned to move to a new location before then. To travel any sizable distance on the Sabbath would be breaking the Law, and no devout Torah teacher would willingly do that . . . except, perhaps, Yeshua.

  I had my answer not long after the women set out a platter of cheese and figs to break our fast. Yeshua’s twelve disciples pulled their cloaks off the ground and tied them around their shoulders. A small group of donkeys stood nearby while Peter and Andrew, another pair of brothers, secured pack saddles on the beasts.

  “I had no idea Yeshua could afford so many animals,” I remarked to Susanna as I observed the preparations. “At least a dozen donkeys?”

  “They are not his. They belong to her.” She inclined her head toward Mary, wife of Clopas, who was filling a basket with blankets. “She gives freely to support Yeshua’s work. I would love to do the same thing.”

  I did not know Mary, wife of Clopas, but was she wise to give so much to support an uncertain work? “When all this is over, will she have anything left?”

  Susanna’s eyes widened. “When this is over? My dear Tasmin, do you not see that Yeshua will change Israel—no, the world—forever? HaShem has sent our Messiah to usher in the kingdom of God, and nothing will ever be the same.”

  I held up my hands in a posture of surrender and backed away. I did not want to argue with my friends; I only wanted to gather my things and go home. If Mary and Clopas wanted to give Yeshua everything they had, what business was it of mine?

  Now, where was the boy? I looked for him among the women, who usually delighted in helping him eat his morning meal. “Boy, where are you?” I asked Mary, Joanna, and Susanna, but though they had seen him earlier, none knew where he had gone.

  The hard fist of fear rose in my throat.

  “Thomas!” Compelled by natural habit, I ran to my brother, who was packing one of the donkeys. “Thomas—” I struggled to catch my breath—“I have been taking care of a little boy, perhaps you have seen him? He is two or three, and something is wrong with his tongue so he doesn’t speak. I have no idea where he would go in a crowd this size . . .”

  Thomas stared as if I’d lost my mind. “How did you get a child?”

  “We found him on the side of the road.” Impatient, I turned and scanned the crowd. “I know you’ve seen dozens of children here, but this boy would be by himself. He’s wearing a blue tunic—”

  “I have not seen the boy, but I’m sure you’ll find him. Ask the women.”

  “I already have.”

  He pointed toward the open field, where a few people lingered, probably hoping to witness a miracle. “Then look around. Children usually run to other children, so perhaps—”

  I stumbled away, nearly blinded by a sudden rise of tears. What had happened to my brother? A month ago, Thomas would have done anything to help me with a problem. He would have known all about the boy, and he would have been as eager to find him as I was. But this Thomas, this stranger, was more interested in packing water jars than in helping me find the child who had become unexpectedly dear to me . . .

  I took long strides down the hill, compelled by gravity and panic. My heart lifted when I recognized a familiar physique. “Jude!”

  He turned at the sound of my voice, and a smile flitted across his face. “Ready to go?”

  “I can’t find the boy. Have you seen him?”

  His smile vanished as he, too, scanned the crowd. “When did you last see him?”

  “This morning. Joanna was helping him eat figs and cheese. She had him on her lap while all the other women made a fuss over him.”

  “And after that?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t see him after that. We were all packing supplies.”

  “He can’t have gone far.” Jude squeezed my shoulder, then tightened the straps on his sandals. “Let’s split up. You walk east and I’ll walk west—”

  “You—you don’t think some family took him, do you?” I looked at the road beyond the hill, already filled with men, women, and children, many of them wearing disguising head w
raps and scarves.

  Jude’s eyes softened. “Isn’t that what you wanted? To allow some other family to raise him?”

  “Yes, but not yet. I wanted—”

  “You can admit it. The child has become precious to you.”

  I drew a breath, wanting to deny it, then snapped my mouth shut. “All right. Yes. I like him. Someone else would make a better mother, but I can’t give him to a woman I don’t know. I want to be sure he’s going to a good home. I don’t want someone to simply pick him up and run off with him.”

  “Like you did?” Jude’s brows slanted the question, and I had to admit he had a point. Yes, I found the child, and yes, I took him even though I was probably the least likely mother to pass his hiding place. But still . . .

  “Please.” I clutched Jude’s arm. “I can’t leave without knowing he is safe.”

  Jude pressed his hand over mine. “We’ll go to the top of the hill and search as we walk in a widening circle. If he is still here, we will find him.”

  My heart pounded an uneven rhythm as I matched Jude’s long stride and half walked, half ran up the grassy hill. A few of Yeshua’s followers still stood at the top, and they moved out of the way when Jude and I climbed to the rocky summit and slowly turned, shading our eyes as we searched the hillside below. “He is wearing blue,” I said, not sure Jude would remember that detail. “And he is probably alone—” my voice broke—“unless someone took him.”

  “Don’t think that way,” Jude said, his voice firm. “We will find him. We will . . . wait.” He pointed to a knot of people below us. “There. My brother is sitting with a group of children. Do you think—?”

  I didn’t wait to hear more. I took off, running toward the rock where Yeshua sat surrounded by youngsters. Their parents stood at a distance, watching the scene with tender smiles.