Daughter of Cana Page 19

  I pushed my way through the parents and walked up to Yeshua, then fell to my knees in sheer relief. Yeshua was telling the children a story, and my boy was sitting in his lap.

  How had the boy come to be with him? Had Yeshua picked him out of the crowd, or had the boy simply spied an empty lap and climbed into it? I had no idea, but my heart warmed when I saw how the boy looked up at Yeshua with wide, trusting eyes. Yeshua continued his story, and at the end he looked down and smiled at my boy.

  Jude and I weren’t the only people who noticed how Yeshua had taken time to be with the children. Two of his disciples, men I didn’t know, stalked over with hard frowns on their faces.

  “How can you trouble the master with your youngsters?” one of them said to the group of parents. “Can you not see that we are trying to pack? Yeshua wants to teach in another place today.”

  I thought Yeshua would thank the man and send the children back to their parents. Instead, he held up his hand, silencing the disciple. “Let the little children come to me,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, “and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

  The kingdom of heaven . . . was for children? I frowned, trying to reconcile the image of a revolutionary army with toddling babies on a hillside.

  Yeshua placed his hand on my boy’s head and murmured a blessing, and then, while I watched in astonishment, he pressed his thumb against the boy’s chin, gently opening the child’s mouth. I stepped forward, afraid he would recoil when he saw the boy’s deformity, but I was too late. Yeshua had to see the forked tongue, but he did not remark on it. He simply pressed his fingertip to the boy’s lips and held it there for a moment. When he removed his hand, he smiled at the boy again, then helped him down so he could come to me.

  “Child, I thought you were lost!” I drew the boy into my arms. “Don’t ever wander away again.”

  I did not expect a reply; I knew the boy couldn’t speak. But he lifted his chin, his lip trembling, and in a voice as clear as birdsong, he said, “I won’t.”

  I blinked hard, then brought my own finger to the boy’s chin and opened his mouth. The cloven tongue . . . had vanished. The boy’s tongue looked as whole as any other, and the misaligned teeth had arranged themselves in the proper formation. He appeared as normal as any other boy.

  I reached for Jude’s arm as the world swayed around me. When I looked up and saw him staring at the child, I knew he had seen, too, and was as dumbstruck as I. He shifted his gaze to Yeshua as a deep frown settled between his brows.

  How could something like this happen? Had our eyes deceived us before this moment or were they false to us now? Such things did not happen in Galilee, and they did not happen to people like us. This healing, if that’s what it was, must be temporary. Perhaps Yeshua had pressed a tongue-colored leaf to the fissure, and we would discover the truth when the boy tried to eat.

  But I had seen no leaf, no fabric, no disguise. And I could not explain.

  I lifted the boy and carried him down the hillside as quickly as I could. Jude gripped my elbow with uncharacteristic firmness, helping me keep my balance as I dodged the many rocks that peppered the ground.

  Our steps cut through the grass as we hurried to our donkey. “I promised,” I muttered between clenched teeth. “I promised Thomas I would stay a little while, but I can no longer abide this sort of thing. If this is a trick, Jude—and surely it must be—it is a cruel jest, for who would do such a thing to a child?”

  “Maybe it is not a trick. Maybe the child has been healed, but by dark powers. My brother is surely mad.”

  I had no answer for him. Only one clear thought filled my head: we had to leave as quickly as we could.

  As the midday sun radiated heat only a lizard could love, Yeshua and his disciples moved south on the road to Jerusalem. Susanna and Joanna left with Yeshua and the women who supported his ministry. Ziv and Rahel had departed earlier in the day. Jude and I guided our donkey southwest, toward Gabara and Cana.

  Now that we were alone except for the boy, Jude and I did not speak much. I don’t know what thoughts occupied his mind, but I couldn’t help thinking about how his brother had healed the boy in my care.

  At first I assured myself that the healing was an illusion, a trick to deceive the eyes, but by the time we passed through Gabara, I could not deny that the boy’s tongue and teeth had permanently shifted. Before the healing, he had barely been able to eat, but at Gabara, when I offered the boy a piece of flatbread, he bit into it and chewed with no trouble. The action so startled me that I asked him to open his mouth and show me his teeth. I then motioned to Jude so he could see that the child’s mouth was no illusion. Jude was likewise mystified, and yet neither of us had an explanation.

  “Perhaps,” Jude said when we began to walk again, “we didn’t notice how normal his teeth were because we were so shocked by the sight of his misshapen tongue.”

  “But he couldn’t eat,” I insisted. “He couldn’t bite into a piece of bread.”

  “Then perhaps Yeshua healed him by some other power. Pharaoh’s magicians were able to imitate the miracles of Moses.”

  “Now you sound like the Pharisees. They have been saying that Yeshua drives out demons by the power of Beelzebub.”

  “Perhaps it is true.”

  “Yeshua heard their rumblings. He asked them how Satan could drive out Satan without dividing his kingdom. ‘But if I drive out demons by the Ruach Elohim,’ he said, ‘then the kingdom of God has come upon you.’”

  “Driving out demons by the Spirit of God,” Jude murmured, lifting his eyes to the horizon. “He is nothing if not audacious.”

  We walked the rest of the way in a heavy silence I found depressing for several reasons. First, neither of us had accomplished what we set out to do. I had not convinced Thomas to come home, and Jude had been unable to persuade his brother—or his mother—to give up their dangerous quest. Second, I had hoped to discover proof that Yeshua’s miracles were only tricks, but what I witnessed left me more perplexed and confused than ever. Third, and perhaps most surprising, I had grown accustomed to Jude and could not imagine the emptiness I would feel when he left me at my father’s house.

  Though I felt an emptiness when Thomas left, Jude’s absence would create a different kind of vacuum. Thomas was my brother, as familiar as the back of my hand. Jude was . . . unpredictable. Clever. And a bit of a challenge.

  Life in Cana would seem dull without him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Jude

  The worst aspect of returning home alone was having to tell my brothers about the job I had accepted on their behalf, and how I did not believe we could complete it without Yeshua.

  After hearing the news, James sank to a stool and tugged on his beard for what seemed like an eternity. I knew he was struggling to come up with a way we could salvage the situation. “Would this merchant be content with a headboard fashioned like a row of pillars?” he asked.

  “I could ask him,” I answered. “But he would probably want to lower the price. The amount he offered reflected the intricate carving involved in the project.”

  James looked at Joses. “You have been carving a bit—could you learn enough to complete a headboard in eleven months?”

  Joses blanched. “I could try, but what if my work doesn’t satisfy? I would hate to carve something he despises, especially if we could find another way to please him.”

  “He likes the Roman style?” Simeon lifted his head. “We could hire a sculptor to do something in stone, then affix the stone to the headboard. What do you think?”

  I was willing to consider the idea, but James scoffed. “A sculptor, here in Nazareth? We’d have to go to Tiberias or Jerusalem to find a skilled sculptor, and his fee would probably consume all our profit. And we’d have to pay to transport the stone.” He looked at me. “Do not go to him yet, Jude. Give us time to attempt a small replica and get the frame completed. Perhaps HaShem will inspire us with a
n idea the man will like better.”

  Joses sighed and rested his chin on his hand. “If only Yeshua were here. He would come up with something and carve it with time to spare.”

  “He is not here,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended it to be. “And though I tried everything to persuade him to come home, he is set on following his own path—no matter what the risk.” I sighed. “I am afraid we may never see our brother again, at least not in Nazareth. His teaching draws more people each day, while his words for the Pharisees and religious leaders grow ever sharper. Mark my words, soon they will decide to make an example of him.”

  My brothers did not argue. Apparently they had reached the same conclusion, only none of us had ever admitted the truth aloud. My statement was met with a silence that was the rueful acceptance of a terrible truth.

  After a moment, James lifted his head. “So what do we do about the merchant?”

  I frowned and rubbed the back of my neck. “I will speak to him. It would not be right to disappoint him when he needs a gift for his wife, so I must tell him we will be unable to make the bed he ordered. If he is willing to accept an alternative, all will be well. And if he is not”—I shrugged—“then we have lost a client and we will have to repay his deposit.”

  I looked around the room and breathed in the scents of the cedar and sandalwood I had already purchased. “If you know anyone else who wants a cedar bed, stool, or worktable, tell them we can make whatever they need at a great price.”

  “Can we not save it?” Simeon asked. “Surely in the future we will need—”

  “We have to eat,” I answered. “And we cannot eat wood.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Tasmin

  Even with a child and an aging father to care for, life in Cana felt boring. I blamed my boredom on Thomas’s absence and began to think of him not with affectionate longing but with growing irritation.

  Aunt Dinah was overjoyed to discover I had returned. Though she was shocked to see a child in my arms, she embraced me with enthusiasm and proceeded to tell me that she was henceforth leaving my father’s care in my hands.

  “Your father became ill not long after you left,” she said, frequently casting curious glances at the boy. “I think he missed you and Thomas, of course. But I have been exhausted, caring for him and seeing to my own family, as well.”

  “You no longer have to worry.” I patted her arm. “I am home.”

  “And this”—she pointed to the boy—“is a surprise. Who is he?”

  “He is a child I found by the side of the road.”

  “You cannot intend to keep him.”

  “Why not? No one else wanted him.”

  “But lots of families would love to have a boy to help in the—”

  “I would love to have a strong boy, especially since Thomas is not likely to come home in time for the harvest. As much as I despise them, the groves are now my responsibility, as is the boy.”

  I did not tell Aunt Dinah about the boy’s cloven tongue, his healing, or the other miracles I had witnessed during my journey. Since she would ask questions for which I had no answers, I thought it best to keep silent on such troubling topics.

  I also thought it best not to mention the attack by the lestes or Thomas’s blunt refusal to leave Yeshua. No sense in troubling her with matters that could neither be helped nor erased.

  “Did you find Thomas?” she asked. “Is he well?”

  “I found him near the sea, and yes, he is well. He is committed to following Yeshua . . . until Yeshua fades away, I suppose.”

  She drew her lips into a tight smile. “I have heard many things about that man, not all of them good. What is your impression of him?”

  I lowered my lips to the top of the boy’s head and idly breathed a kiss on his curls. My impression of Yeshua? How could I explain my conflicted feelings? “I do not understand him, Aunt. He speaks of farmers and kings and the kingdom of God . . . but I do not find him as fascinating as Thomas does.”

  “Is it true what they say? That he heals people?”

  I nodded. “Apparently.”

  “And he raises the dead?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Some say he raised a widow’s son, but the child may have been sleeping and Yeshua woke him.”

  “Well. You are a bright girl, so if you aren’t convinced he is our king, then I’m not convinced either.” She stood and smoothed her tunic, then lifted a brow. “I shall leave you with your father and your boy, then. What is the child’s name?”

  I smiled. “Yagil.”

  “Did you give him that name?”

  I laughed. “No. We asked him, and he told us.”

  “While you were asking, did you ask about his real parents?”

  “As gently as I could . . . but he could not answer.”

  When I presented the boy to my father, he blinked and his mouth fell open before he recovered. “You bought a slave?”

  “He’s not a slave, Abba. I found him by the side of the road.”

  Abba frowned and stroked his beard. “Is he circumcised?”

  “Yes.”

  “So he is Jewish?”

  “Yes.”

  His left brow rose a fraction. “I hoped my daughter would return with a husband, but instead she comes home with a boy?”

  “He’s a good boy.”

  Abba studied the boy’s face, which had filled out considerably now that he could eat. “People will talk.”

  “I don’t see why they would. Pharaoh’s daughter adopted Moses when she found him among the reeds, so why can’t I adopt the child I found by the road?”

  “Harrumph.”

  The boy gave my father a shy smile, then looked up as Abba rummaged in a basket and brought up a handful of wooden blocks. “Here, child.” Abba gave the blocks to the boy. “I give you Thomas’s blocks.”

  When Yagil began to stack them, Abba sat back and smiled. “Soon we shall teach him Torah,” he said, gripping his knees. “And when he is old enough, we will teach him how to harvest the dates.”

  Our grove had been left to itself since Thomas left, yet palm trees did not require much tending except in autumn when the dates were harvested. Abba would not be able to participate in the harvest, so I would oversee the operation.

  Caring for my father quickly became my full-time concern. Every morning I had to prepare his meal and strain his food, since he had difficulty swallowing. After he ate, I helped him dress. Both my father and I suffered a thousand humiliations when I had to help him to the privy—that would have been Thomas’s job had he been home, but now the responsibility fell to me.

  “I am sorry to be a burden,” Abba said when I helped him into bed each night. “You should be caring for a husband and a child, not your father.”

  “I love you, Abba,” I said. “I am honored to help you.”

  Days melted into weeks and weeks into months. Yagil, Abba, and I developed a routine that was not unpleasant, though I still missed Thomas and often felt lonely. Every day I took care of my father and Yagil. Every week I cleaned the house, then Yagil and I walked out to the grove to make sure no mishap had befallen the date palms. I accepted orders for baked goods. I did not agree to manage any wedding feasts, because I could not risk being away from home if Abba needed me. He called for me several times a day and often during the night, as he needed help getting out of bed to relieve himself.

  One night Abba tripped over a clay pot Yagil had moved from its usual place. The false step sent my father tumbling into the corner of a bench. Awakened by the noise, I found Abba on the floor. Unable to lift him, I drew his head into my lap, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and wept, drowning in a gulf of despair.

  What was I going to do? If Thomas were home, he could help me get Abba back to bed and then go for the physician. But Thomas was gone and I couldn’t leave my father, which meant he would remain on the floor until someone passed by the house and heard my cry. I had no way of determining the serio
usness of Abba’s head injury, and for all I knew he might be dying in my arms. What could I do to help him? Nothing. I could do nothing but think of Thomas and curse the day he met Yeshua.

  Since returning home, I had managed to shelve my emotions while fulfilling my duties. I had not allowed myself to dwell on my losses or revisit memories of seeing Thomas by the Sea of Galilee. The memories would be too painful, the emotions associated with them too raw.

  That night, however, my anguish snapped the last threads of my self-control. On the floor, in the flickering light of an oil lamp, I found myself in a fitting place for tears, so I gave way and let them fall. I had earned this empty, joyless life, and the one person who might have lessened my burden had abandoned me. For as long as I could remember, my world had revolved around Abba and Thomas, and I was on the verge of losing them both.

  After weeping until I felt empty, I leaned back against a chest and managed to enter a shallow doze. Wandering in the hazy world between wakefulness and dreaming, I walked from village to village, searching for Thomas amid hundreds of people, all of whom were as lost as I was. Yagil, who rode my hip, kept crying and tugging at my tunic.

  “Tasmin?” My heart flooded with relief when I recognized the voice: Jude.

  I blinked the sleep from my eyes and saw him kneeling in front of me. The sun had risen, flooding the house with light. My father’s head was still in my lap and he was still breathing. Yagil was standing by my side, his thumb in his mouth and his face streaked with tears.

  I gaped at my unexpected visitor. “Why are you here?”

  The grim line of his mouth relaxed. “I came by the house and heard the boy crying. What has happened?”

  “Abba fell and hit his head,” I said, stirring to wake my sleeping legs. “I knew I could never pick him up, so I tried to make him comfortable . . .”

  “Let me help.” Jude examined the bump on my father’s forehead, then slipped an arm around Abba’s shoulders and sat him up. Together we carried him to his bed.