Daughter of Cana Read online

  “Jude.”

  I lifted my brows, startled to hear her voice. “Yes?”

  “Do you like being a carpenter?”

  The question caught me off guard, and I laughed. “No one has ever asked me that before.”

  She gave me a bright-eyed glance, full of shrewdness. “Why not? You have five brothers. Surely Nazareth does not need five carpenters. Have you never wanted to do something else?”

  I adjusted my grip on the lamb across my shoulders and squinted into the distance. “I have never thought about it. Our father taught all of us how to use tools and work the wood . . . though some of us are better at it than others.”

  “Really?”

  When she did not look up, I suspected she did not care what I said; she was only making conversation to pass the time. Still, as long as the conversation did not get too silly, I was willing to answer.

  “Yes,” I said. “Yeshua is the most skilled at carving. When he was younger, he used to carve gopher wood into animals that appeared so real you almost expected them to run away. He has carved cups and trays and pieces of furniture. He’s very good.”

  Her eyes sank into a delicate net of wrinkles as she smiled. “Can you carve?”

  “Not as well as Yeshua.”

  Weary of talking about myself, I turned the conversation around. “What about you? Have you always wanted to bake for weddings?”

  “No.”

  “But you do it?”

  She shrugged. “My father owns date palms. We harvest dates. What am I supposed to do with so many dates? I hate them, so I dry them and sell them at the market. Dried dates are good for baking, and the cakes are so festive that people want them for weddings. So now I bake for weddings.”

  “And your brother? Does he bake, too?”

  Another sharp-eyed glance, then she shook her head. “Thomas helps Abba in the grove because our father can no longer climb the trees. One day the grove will be his, and we will continue to work together. Like you, we have never considered doing anything else.”

  We walked in silence a moment more, then her brow wrinkled. “Why does your brother think he is the messiah? Did someone tell him he is? Did he dream it? Or did he just decide to call himself Israel’s promised king?”

  I pursed my lips and slowly blew out a long breath. Should I ignore the question or confess my ignorance of Yeshua’s motives? I did not want to get into a long discussion about Yeshua. I did not want to talk about him at all.

  “Have you,” I said, matching the rhythm of my words to the steady tramp of our feet, “ever heard a question so many times you could happily die as long as you knew you would never hear it again?”

  She examined my face with considerable absorption, then nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then let’s enjoy our walk and not speak of things that weary us. Agreed?”

  Her eyes warmed slightly, and the hint of a smile acknowledged the success of my hunch. “Agreed, Jude ben Joseph.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tasmin

  By the fifth day of the wedding feast, my emotions about Thomas had shifted from concern to anxiety. For the first four days, after he helped me with the work—with an unusually distracted air and minimal effort—he hurried to join his new friends: Andrew, Simon Peter, Nathanael, James, and John. Whether Yeshua joined them or not, they sat in a small circle and talked, their heads bent together, their voices low. Aunt Dinah joked that they must be planning to overthrow the Romans. Though I managed a polite laugh, her jest made me wonder.

  What topic held them so spellbound, and why did they lower their voices to discuss it? Whenever I approached, usually on the pretext of serving them lemon water or barley cakes, they snapped their mouths shut and avoided my gaze—even Thomas, who usually told me everything.

  My brother and I shared everything growing up: our opinions, which were often opposite, our thoughts, secrets, and fears. We spent every hour of every day together until Thomas was old enough to go to the synagogue for Torah study. That was when Abba sent me to Aunt Dinah’s house so I could learn how to cook, sew, grind wheat, make bread, and keep the fire pit coals glowing. While I was with Dinah, I also received lessons on how to be an obedient wife, how to persuade a husband by subtle means, and how to pique the interest of a man. Dinah’s daughters were apt pupils, yet I barely listened. Why should I? HaShem had put me and Thomas together in the womb, and we had already experienced things that had bonded us more closely than most of the married couples of my acquaintance. I could tell what my brother was thinking from across the house, and he understood my moods better than I did. Why would we ever need anyone else?

  So when Thomas took up with a group of strangers—especially when he was supposed to be helping me—of course I was bothered. Irritated. And distressed.

  Not even Yeshua proved as distant as Thomas. Though he spent a good deal of time with the men he brought to the wedding, he also spent time with his mother, with the bride and groom, and with others who sought him out. Once I walked over and pretended to adjust an awning while I eavesdropped on his conversation with Etan and Galya. Yeshua congratulated them on their marriage, wished them every happiness, and offered the blessing of Rachel and Leah—the typical sort of thing anyone would say at a wedding.

  So why did my twin find him so fascinating?

  One afternoon, when the women had gone inside to rest and most of the men dozed in the sun, I walked over to the shady area where the friends of Thomas and Yeshua had gathered. Yeshua was not with them, for he was out walking with his mother. While the remaining men talked, I picked up a broom and slowly swept the cobblestones, though my halfhearted efforts did little but stir the dust.

  A new face had entered the circle—James, Mary’s second-born son. Tall and rangy, in his late twenties, James was past the age of marriage, but perhaps he was following his older brother’s example.

  “Tell us, James,” Peter said, “about growing up with Yeshua. Surely you have interesting stories to share.”

  James gave Peter a skeptical look. “I don’t know what you want to hear. We are like any other family.”

  Andrew shook his head. “But your brother is the promised king of Israel.”

  James guffawed. “My brother has always been a dreamer. When there is work to be done, you will find him wandering in the hills. When we are cutting lumber, he is likely to be sitting on the slopes of Mount Tabor.”

  Andrew’s face fell. “But surely there is something you could tell us. Something unusual that happened.”

  A corner of James’s mouth twisted. “There was one situation . . . I’ll never forget it. I thought our father would punish him severely, but instead our parents withheld their rebuke, almost as if they were afraid to offend him.”

  “What?” Andrew said, grinning. “Give us details.”

  James’s chest rose and fell as he drew a deep breath. “The incident happened on a Passover trip to Jerusalem. After the feast, we gathered our things and started the journey home with a group from Nazareth. I was ten, so Yeshua would have been twelve. Anyway, we traveled all day, and as we were bedding down that night, our mother searched among our friends and family for Yeshua. She asked me and Damaris if we’d seen him, and we told her no—we hadn’t seen him since Jerusalem. Ima became hysterical. Abba calmed her down, but he couldn’t stop her tears. I couldn’t sleep after that, because all I could hear was the sound of Ima’s weeping. She kept saying, ‘It is our duty to protect him. How could this have happened?’”

  James shot Andrew a pointed look, but the fisherman’s face remained impassive.

  “She was extremely upset,” James went on. “And the rest of us couldn’t understand why Yeshua would be so foolish, so inconsiderate as to upset our mother and father.”

  Andrew nodded. “So what happened?”

  James shrugged. “The next morning, Abba sent the rest of us home with a neighboring family, because he and Ima had to go back to Jerusalem. I had been hoping they would leave Yeshua in the Hol
y City, but no, they insisted on returning. So we said good-bye, and the rest of us had to go home with people we barely knew. I was so upset I didn’t speak to Yeshua for weeks afterward.”

  A heavy silence fell over the group, then Peter spoke. “So . . . ?”

  “So what?”

  Peter blew out an exasperated breath. “So what had Yeshua been doing in Jerusalem?”

  “Does it matter? He deliberately stayed behind when it was time to leave.”

  “But perhaps he had a reason.”

  “What twelve-year-old boy has a reason to ignore his parents?” James’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed as he continued. “Abba said they searched everywhere—the house where we stayed, the marketplace, and finally they went to the Temple. That’s where they spotted him—sitting on a stool, surrounded by learned Torah teachers. They were questioning Yeshua, and he was answering as if he were more highly educated than the elders. The Temple teachers were amazed at him.”

  James glanced around the circle and saw what I saw—his listeners, flabbergasted by the story. “Abba said he and Ima rushed over and asked Yeshua why he hadn’t stayed with the family, and he said, ‘Why were you searching for me? Didn’t you know I must be about the things of my Father?’”

  Peter blinked rapidly. “About the things . . . of Joseph the carpenter?”

  “His heavenly father.” James’s voice dripped with derision. “He spoke as if HaShem were his father, not Abba. After they returned home and I heard the story, fury rose up within me, for not only did Yeshua act irresponsibly but his answer disrespected our father. And how could Yeshua speak as if he knew more than the Torah teachers? Now that I am a man, I know Torah teachers don’t always agree, so how could a twelve-year-old give them definitive answers?”

  “But you said the priests were amazed,” Andrew interrupted. “So surely—”

  “Wouldn’t you be amazed if a child tried to explain some of the prophets’ most perplexing prophecies?” James asked. “They were amazed by who spoke to them, not by the answers. If Yeshua had been sixteen or twenty, they would have turned away or told him to remain silent lest he be thought a fool.”

  At this, I turned my head and smiled, happy to know that another of Yeshua’s siblings had not been swept away by the man’s strange ideas. If Thomas would listen to James or Jude, who knew Yeshua better than any of the men seated in that circle, he would remain safe. My brother would not be carried away by whatever brand of treason the carpenter’s son wanted to foment.

  I moved my broom to a new area so I could study Thomas, but the look on my brother’s face was anything but reassuring. He was frowning, which meant he disagreed with something James had said. He would need the benefit of my perspective to fully understand how radical this Yeshua might be.

  A perspective I would share at the earliest possible opportunity.

  When I finished cleaning, I went into the house to rest. The only available spot was on the floor next to Galya, so I stretched out on a blanket beside her. When she stirred and opened her eyes, I told her I was surprised to find her in the women’s room.

  “Oh.” She gave me a drowsy smile. “Etan is outside with the men, so I thought I’d slip away. A woman cannot spend all her time with her husband.”

  Grateful to find her alone, I asked a question that had been much on my mind. “Is marriage all you hoped it would be?”

  “How can I know?” She dimpled. “When the celebration is over and I learn how to be his wife, then I will know. After I have lived a year next to his mother and brothers and sisters, then I will know. But now, of course, marriage is wonderful. Ask me again when I am older.”

  She dropped her head to her arm and peered at me through half-lowered lashes. “You should be thinking about a wedding, Tasmin. Do none of the men here interest you?”

  “I do not look at other men as potential husbands.” I resisted the urge to yawn as a warm tide of exhaustion swept over me. “I will leave that decision to my father.”

  Galya laughed. “Everyone knows the matter of marriage is up to you! I have heard your father say he has suggested many fine young men, but you refuse them all.” Her voice softened. “If you had not lost your mother so early, I am sure you would be eager for a future with a husband and children.”

  A cold panic chilled my shoulder blades and prickled down my spine. Her comment about my mother, coming so soon after her talk of marriage . . . but she could not know. No one knew, no one but me and Thomas.

  I drew a deep breath to calm my pounding heart. “I have my father and Thomas. I need no one else.”

  “Oh, Tasmin.” Galya’s dimple winked at me. “You do not know what you are missing.”

  I closed my eyes, hoping she would take the hint and let me rest. “I know about men and women. But I don’t need that. Not every woman needs to be married.”

  “You may be right. But didn’t Adonai make Eve for Adam? And didn’t He create a female for every beast on earth?”

  “I am not a beast.” A profound weakness settled over me like a blanket. “But I am tired. If you have any compassion for me at all, please let me sleep.”

  “Of course,” Galya whispered. “But you are still mistaken.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tasmin

  By the sixth morning of the feast, the celebration had quieted, although I knew the calm would not last. When the final feast day began at sunset, the musicians would play, the dancers would begin to whirl, and appetites would return. Tonight’s dinner would be the most extravagant, because it would fortify the guests who would return to their homes on the morrow. The food would be plentiful and the wine would flow . . . but my wine barrels were empty.

  I had meat, fruits, and vegetables. I had been baking breads, savory and sweet, for the last two days. The feast would be everything the bride and groom expected, but the groom’s money had run out along with his wine.

  I was pacing in the courtyard, debating whether or not I should throw myself into the fire pit, when I heard a soft voice behind me. “Are you all right, dear girl? You seem anxious.”

  I turned to see Mary of Nazareth regarding me with a concerned expression. I had barely spoken to her during the week, but Dinah must have mentioned that I was a kinswoman because Mary’s eyes shone with sincere compassion.

  “I am exhausted,” I admitted, spreading my hands over the glowing embers of the cook fire. “I have done the best I could for this feast, yet somehow . . . I must have miscalculated. We have run out of money, and we have no wine for tonight’s dinner.”

  Mary smiled and turned, calling for her eldest son. Yeshua was sitting with his followers beneath a tamarisk tree, and I expected him to ignore his mother’s summons. But he broke away from what appeared to be an intense conversation and came over, nodding at me before he gave his mother a questioning look.

  “They don’t have any wine,” she whispered.

  Yeshua glanced at me and looked again at his mother. “Woman”—he lowered his voice to match hers—“what does this have to do with you and me? My hour has not come yet.”

  Mary turned to me, the warmth of her smile echoing in her voice. “Do whatever he tells you to do.”

  I stared at her. What did she mean? Was her son going to give us money? Did he have connections with a local wine merchant?

  Yeshua did not explain, but looked at the tall water jars standing near the gate like sentries. They had been filled when the guests first began to arrive, but after days of frequent use, most of them were now empty.

  Yeshua pointed at the stone jars and looked at me. “Fill them.”

  Whatever for? I was about to protest, but in a few hours we did expect a large crowd. The guests would have dusty feet, so we might as well refill the jars. Still, I would not send servants all the way to the village well for foot-washing water. We would use the rainwater from the family’s cistern, an underground container that tended to collect insects and algae.

  And how would filling the foot-washing jar
s solve our wine problem? I stared at Yeshua, considering the question. Perhaps this was a test—maybe he wanted to see if I would obey this simple instruction before entrusting me with the name of his wine-merchant connection.

  In any case, I had no choice and nothing better to do.

  Sighing, I summoned three of the hired servants and pointed to a row of buckets by the stairs. “Go down to the cistern and bring up water,” I told them. “Then fill the foot-washing jars by the gate.” I sighed, knowing the servants would not be thrilled by the thought of climbing stairs while carrying heavy buckets. “If you see my brother, ask him to help. You might have to remind him that he was hired to be the headwaiter.”

  I left Yeshua and his mother and moved toward the stairs, watching as the servants jogged down the stone steps and returned, slowly hauling buckets of water from the cistern. They crossed the courtyard, their young shoulders sagging beneath their loads, then lifted the buckets and poured them into the elegant jars. Etan’s family had six of the enormous vessels, and each required five buckets to fill it.

  Finally, the last jar overflowed. The exhausted servants stood nearby to wait for my next order, so I turned to Mary’s son. “We have done as you said. Now will you explain how we’re supposed to—”

  “Tasmin!” Thomas hurried toward me, his face flushed. “Sorry to be late, but I’ve just heard you needed me. What do you want?”

  In answer, I looked at Yeshua, who gave me a casual, relaxed smile with a great deal of confidence behind it. “Take some of the water out,” he said, “and give it to the headwaiter in a cup.”

  I still did not understand, but I was too frustrated to argue. I walked to the closest jar, slipped a copper cup beneath the spout, and let the liquid flow. When the cup was halfway full, I closed the spigot and offered the cup to Thomas.

  Completely unaware of what had transpired before his arrival, Thomas took the cup, sniffed it, and brought the cup to his lips.

  I grimaced. “Thomas, no!”

  My brother’s eyes went wide as he swallowed and then lowered the cup. “Where did you get this?” he asked. “And why are we serving it now?”