Daughter of Cana Page 5

  I drew a breath, about to denounce Yeshua’s poor attempt at a joke, but Thomas did not give me the opportunity. Instead he shouted for Etan’s attention, lifted the cup, and declared, “Everyone usually brings out the good wine first, and whenever they are drunk, then the worse. But you’ve reserved the good wine until now!”

  Had he lost his mind? I whirled to face Yeshua, but he was already walking back to his circle of friends.

  But Mary and the servants had realized what happened. Without lifting a finger, Yeshua of Nazareth, son of Joseph the carpenter, had turned dirty, stagnant rainwater into wine . . . of an extremely fine vintage.

  I couldn’t stop myself. After taking a quick sip to be sure Thomas hadn’t gone mad—yes, it was good wine—I flew down the circular staircase until I reached the cistern. The air in the underground chamber cooled my cheeks as I descended, and a wet trail marked the path of those who had filled their buckets to obey Yeshua’s command.

  Water—especially stagnant water—did not become fine wine because it had been poured into a stone jar. How had Mary’s son managed such a trick?

  A wire screen normally covered the cistern to keep rats and other vermin from falling inside. The servants had slid the screen aside, making room for their buckets. The top edge of the cistern came up to my waist, so I gripped the side and peered into its depths. Sunlight from the opening overhead glimmered on the surface, and a line on the stone marked the height of the water an hour before. A faint green smear marked part of the wall—scum. To my knowledge, pond scum had never been a vital ingredient of fine wine.

  I bit my lip, considering the problem. Even if it were possible to create wine from water, Yeshua could never have done it in the time that passed between drawing it out and serving it to Thomas. So how had he done it?

  I lifted my gaze to the sky and waited for inspiration to strike. Thomas would probably describe it a miracle, for he had already begun to believe this Nazarene was something more than a man, perhaps even our future king. But kings were mortal; they could not turn water into wine. They might, however, have hidden wineskins in this cellar . . .

  I searched for telltale signs. Yeshua or one of his brothers could have hidden wineskins down here at any point during the feast. They might have heard Thomas voicing his concern about the wine supply, and under cover of darkness Yeshua could have gone to buy more. He could have hidden the wineskins or even a barrel, then bribed one of the servant girls to pour wine into the other servants’ buckets when I asked them to fill the water jars.

  I smiled in satisfaction. Such a simple plan, and easily accomplished. But Yeshua had not had time to come downstairs and hide the evidence, nor had any of the servants done it for him—I had been with them ever since they came up that last time, and none of them ventured near the cellar stairs afterward. So if evidence remained, I would find it . . .

  Moving methodically around the subterranean chamber, I overturned storage baskets, moved wooden boxes, and fumbled through folded bags used for grain and seed. I ran my fingers along the wall, looking for a loose brick that might hide a secret compartment, then considered the pipe that angled away from the cistern and led up to the roof. The pipe was too small to hide an empty wineskin, and a metal grate covered the opening. The grate had not been disturbed.

  I crossed my arms and chewed my thumbnail. No barrel or wineskins here. So how had he done it?

  I was about to screech in frustration when I heard steps on the stairs. I flattened myself against the wall, half hoping the Nazarene would appear to remove the evidence of his supposed miracle. But the man on the stairs was not Yeshua, but Jude, his brother.

  At first he did not see me, but studied the cistern as intently as I had, scratching his scalp as if to urge his mind to greater effort. He leaned over and peered into the cistern, then pressed his hand to a damp spot on the stone and tasted the liquid on his palm.

  I stepped out of the shadows. “It is not wine, if that’s what you suspect.”

  He startled, then turned a vivid scarlet. “I did not know anyone was down here.”

  I crossed my arms and pointedly looked away. “I thought you had come down to hide the evidence of your brother’s trickery. I was convinced he had hidden wineskins here, but I have not yet found them.”

  Jude’s dark eyes widened for a moment, then he laughed. “Wineskins? I can assure you of this—my brother could not afford to purchase the wineskins necessary to fill so many cups. I have been with him nearly every minute since you and I returned from Nazareth, and I have seen no wineskins.”

  “If you are not looking for wineskins, then why are you here?”

  His gaze sharpened. “Because I wondered if you and your brother were up to some kind of mischief. Your brother is the steward of the feast, no? And he supports Yeshua. I thought he might have brought in a barrel of wine and hidden it. Or perhaps he had you procure more wine while you were in Nazareth. After all, we were not together the entire time.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Why would I be interested in helping your brother trick these people?”

  We stared at each other a moment, and then I turned and walked around the cistern again, bending to search every cranny in the bricks. Across from me, Jude did the same thing.

  “Your suspicions surprise me,” I said, still searching. “Because Thomas has been listening intently to Yeshua. Your brother seems to gather more followers with every passing day, and most of them are young, impressionable men like my brother.” I stopped and straightened. “I would not want Thomas to join Yeshua’s company.”

  “I do not blame you.” Jude faced me, his eyes flashing. “The things Yeshua says—he did not learn those things in our family. The rest of us hold no illusions about who we are.”

  “And what, exactly, is he saying?” I crossed my arms. “We have seen too many false prophets and messiahs in Judea. They begin with a few followers, stir up trouble in the villages, preach revolution, and before long Herod sends soldiers to stop their sedition. They die, mothers mourn, and we turn our thoughts back to our work. You would think our people would learn to keep our eyes down and our ears closed—”

  “Goodness, but you are full of words!”

  I blinked. “How else am I going to make you understand? But if you can’t tell me where the wine came from—”

  “I was hoping to get that information from you.”

  I gritted my teeth again. “Clearly, we have both wasted our time. You should leave now. If we go upstairs together, people will think we were conspiring.”

  He took a step toward the stairs, then halted. “Why would I leave and give you time to hide whatever evidence you have?”

  “What will it take”—I spoke slowly, as if to a dull child—“for you to believe me? I had no part in your brother’s trickery. I would like nothing better than to expose the hoax.”

  He waited, his eyes searching mine, and finally nodded. “I will go first,” he said, moving toward the stairs. “You may stay down here as long as you like.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tasmin

  After a night of fine wine, dancing, and renewed congratulations for the newlyweds, the wedding feast ended. The guests rose early the next morning, broke their fast with bread and fruit, and stopped by the bridal chamber to bless the bride and groom. After myriad prayers that Etan and Galya would prove to be as fruitful as Isaac and Rebekah, the guests departed on foot, donkeys, and in mule-drawn wagons, eager to arrive home before sunset and the onset of Shabbat.

  The guests from Nazareth were among the last to leave. As I tapped my foot, eager to begin the hard work of cleaning up, Thomas lingered with Yeshua and his followers. Jude, who had refused to meet my gaze ever since our encounter in the cellar, stood with his siblings near the courtyard gate, apparently impatient to be on his way.

  Yeshua said something to Thomas, Simon Peter clapped my brother’s back, and I hoped they had completed their farewells.

  Then Thomas lowered his head and walked toward
me. “Tasmin,” he called.

  Something in his tone lifted the hair at the back of my neck. A note in his voice reminded me of the time he had to tell me one of my friends had died. I had learned to dread that sound, but there it was, discreetly announcing that my twin was about to deliver news I would not like.

  I wouldn’t give him the chance.

  “I’m glad you’re finally ready to work,” I said, speaking so quickly my words ran together. “We have to return the tables to the neighbors. We have a wagon loaded with trash to be burned outside the city, and I have several pitchers and lampstands that must be washed, dried, and polished. You can return them at the end of the day, then I’d like you to—”

  “I’ve been invited to go with Yeshua.”

  The words struck like stones against my chest. I had been dreading them, fearing them, and had almost managed to convince myself I would never hear them, yet here they were, pummeling my weary heart.

  “Of course you told him no.” I mustered a smile and pressed a cleaning cloth into his hand. “There is too much work to be done, and I can’t do it without you.”

  Thomas draped the cloth over my shoulder. “I’m going with them, Tasmin, because I must. I don’t expect you to understand, but I hope you will . . . eventually. Yeshua is important. I have been chosen, and this is something I must do.”

  “Thomas.” I put a hand on my hip and forced a smile. “I don’t know how he turned the water into wine, but you can’t trust a trickster who does things to amaze a crowd. You can’t trust a man who works wonders without explanation.”

  “I don’t think he did it to amaze.” Thomas spoke in a calm voice. “I didn’t know he had anything to do with the good wine until I heard the servants talking.”

  “But that’s my point—he knew the servants would talk. Before the night was over, everyone had heard the story.”

  “True.” Thomas glanced over his shoulder, then met my gaze head-on. “Listen—I’m not completely convinced he is the one we’ve been waiting for. But how will I know unless I go with him? So I’m going. I’ll stay with him until I see something that convinces me he is not the man he says he is.”

  I opened my mouth and looked at our father, who stood with Etan and Galya. I was hoping Abba would see my stricken expression and help me, but he did not turn in my direction.

  So I appealed to Thomas’s sense of responsibility. “You would leave me in the middle of a job? We were both hired to manage this wedding feast.”

  A smile twisted the corner of my twin’s mouth. “And you have done most of the work alone. So accept all of the wages, sister. You have earned them.”

  He began to walk away, but I was not finished. “Thomas, what will I do without you? Your place is here.”

  He was no longer listening, but waving to Abba and Aunt Dinah. He picked up the small leather bag he had packed for the wedding, then followed Yeshua and his followers through the courtyard gate.

  I felt as though half of my limbs had been ripped away.

  Mary and the others in her family lingered to say farewell to the bride and groom. I turned, embarrassed to be seen with tears in my eyes, but a moment later I felt a gentle hand on my arm. Mary stood behind me, a compassionate smile on her face.

  “We are going to Capernaum, where Yeshua is living now,” she said. “You are welcome to join us.”

  I shook my head. “Thank you, but I can’t. I have to stay and clean up.”

  “After your work is done, then. After Shabbat.” She glanced toward the road, where Yeshua and his men were disappearing in a cloud of dust. “I don’t know how long we’ll be in Capernaum, but we shouldn’t be hard to find. Bring your father, if you like. We would love to see you again—and I know Thomas would be delighted to see his sister.”

  The mere mention of my twin’s name made me flinch. Did she know what I was feeling? How could she understand how it felt to have your other half, your womb-mate, walk away without a proper warning?

  “I know how it feels to lose someone,” she whispered, leaning toward me. “When I lost my Joseph I thought I might never smile again. But HaShem is faithful, and while Joseph is no longer at my side, Adonai has never left me. He will not leave you, either.”

  I sniffed. “I know HaShem is everywhere,” I answered, struggling to restrain an unexpected rush of tears, “but He does not have a face.”

  “Perhaps He will show himself to you.” Mary squeezed my arm and smiled, then stepped away. “Come to Capernaum, if you will. We would love to see you again.”

  I turned from the gate through which my brother had disappeared and stared at the pile of bowls and pots I would have to clean and return to their owners. A sense of emptiness washed over me, robbing me of the joy I should have felt for successfully completing a job despite a host of difficulties. My butcher had been sick, Thomas had been only half present, and the groom’s father had not purchased enough wine . . .

  A tear trickled down my cheek, and I swiped it away, irritated by the sign of weakness. I never felt weak when Thomas was with me. He would always laugh if he caught me crying, and I could not abide his mocking laughter. He had made me strong, yet how could I be strong without him?

  My father must have realized what I was feeling, because he was the first to approach after Thomas departed.

  “Would you like some help, daughter?”

  “Thank you, Abba, but no. You need to rest.”

  “I am fine. Let me help.”

  “Well . . .” I forbade my chin to tremble as I gestured to a stack of planks we had used as a table. “Those will need to go into the wagon. We borrowed them from a carpenter on the north side of town. But get someone to help you because those planks are heavy.”

  “I can return them for you.”

  Without a word about Thomas, Abba hitched up the hem of his tunic and called for Etan. Together they gathered the heavy planks and shoved them into the back of the wagon.

  Galya joined me a moment later. “Let me lend a hand,” she said, rolling up the sleeves of her tunic. “You shouldn’t have dismissed the hired servants so soon.”

  “I thought I’d have Thomas to help,” I said, dismayed to hear a sharp edge in my voice. “I never dreamed he would leave before the job was finished.”

  Galya shook her head. “I don’t understand the attraction. Yeshua seems a nice enough fellow, but I spent some time talking to his sisters, Damaris and Pheodora, and even they think he is strange.”

  “Has he always been unusual?”

  “You mean mad?” Galya laughed. “His sisters said he is a good son, dutiful and devout, and devoted to his mother. A few months ago, they said, he went down to Jerusalem, where he spent time with some of their relatives. John the Immerser is a kinsman, and some say he is mad, too. He lives in the desert and wears camel skins. Maybe this John influenced Yeshua. They say the Immerser is a prophet.”

  I snorted. “Thomas thinks Yeshua is the promised king of Israel. The messiah.”

  “I’ve heard that, too. If he is”—Galya dumped a pile of bones from a plate into a bucket—“I’m not sure I’d want to be associated with him. Anyone who hints about unseating Herod usually ends up dead.”

  I pressed my lips together, realizing the truth in her words. Herod the Great had murdered anyone he even suspected of aspiring to his throne, including several of his own sons and dozens of baby boys in the village of Bethlehem. Herod Antipas, another son, now ruled over Galilee, and he was only slightly less paranoid than his father.

  “My father,” I said, “says we did not pray with enough faith when we begged HaShem to take the first Herod away. We rejoiced at his death, but he was like a worm—with one part cut off, three others grew to take his place!”

  Galya sighed and handed me a silver platter. “Still, I do not suppose there is anything we can do. Men will do what they want, while we women stay behind and worry about them.”

  I took the platter and stared past it at the spot where Thomas stood only an hour b
efore. Stay behind and worry about him? I had kept up with Thomas since we first began to walk. I was not his wife, expected to remain at home to tend his house. I was as unencumbered as he was, and equally as stubborn.

  “I will go after him.” I spoke the words aloud, not really intending them for Galya’s ear, but she heard them nonetheless.

  “Go after him?” She released a delicate laugh. “That’s why I like you, Tasmin—you are utterly spontaneous.”

  I shrugged. “What else have I to do? Your wedding is done. I have no other feasts to manage.”

  “Not now perhaps. But how will you go after your brother? Decent women do not travel alone. You will need a man’s protection—no, you will need the protection of a caravan because these are restless times. And before you do anything, you will have to secure your father’s permission to undertake such a journey.”

  “Mary invited me to join them in Capernaum,” I said, as if that solved all my problems. “Capernaum is not such a great distance. I could travel there in a few hours—”

  “Many things can happen in a few hours, and I’m certain Mary did not intend for you to set out alone. And if you’re not going to wash that tray, let me have it.” Galya took the silver platter from my hand and lowered it into a basin of water. “I’m sure she thought you’d travel with your father and a few friends.”

  I picked up some soiled dishes and held them until Galya had finished washing the platter. “I could find someone to go with me,” I said, thinking aloud. “And Abba wouldn’t care if I went. Indeed, once he realizes that Thomas could be following a false messiah, he might urge me to go.”

  “He wouldn’t go with you?”

  I shook my head. “His health is not what it once was. He tires after walking even short distances.”

  Galya took a bowl from me and scrubbed the inside. “What will you do,” she asked, her brows knitting, “if Thomas won’t return?”

  I bit my lip. “I will wait. I will watch this Yeshua, listen carefully, and be quick to point out anything he says that goes against the Torah. I will put my mind to solving the mystery of the wine and I will figure out how he tricked us.” I gasped as a sudden thought occurred. “Did Etan help him? Did he realize how little wine we had left?”