Daughter of Cana Read online

  She gave me a reproachful look. “Etan and I had just completed our first week as husband and wife. Do you think he spent much time thinking about wine?”

  “I don’t know, but he wouldn’t have wanted his family to be embarrassed. So did he help Yeshua? Or perhaps Etan’s father brought in more wine?”

  Galya shook her head. “The family spent all they had on the wedding. Even if they had wanted to buy more, they could not.”

  I inhaled a deep breath, then dipped my head in an abrupt nod. “I am going to do it,” I told her, setting more dirty dishes next to her washing bucket. “I am going after Thomas and I will convince him to leave. The moment I find a flaw in this Yeshua ben Joseph, I will peel my brother away and bring him home. To my father. To me.”

  Galya handed me a dripping bowl and draped a piece of linen over my arm. “Then you’d better get busy drying these dishes,” she said, humoring me with a smile. “Because you have a lot to do before you go.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jude

  I walked slowly into Nazareth, well aware that several of my neighbors were peering out their windows and casting curious looks in my direction. One neighbor—a compact man who walked with a spring in his step—finally stepped outside and flashed a smile. “Jude, shalom! Good to see you, my friend. How was the wedding? And where is the rest of your family?”

  I tried not to reveal my irritation as I stopped. “The wedding was blessed. My mother and brothers have gone on to Capernaum. Damaris is home, as you probably know. She and her husband spent a short time at the feast.”

  “Ah, yes, the children.” The man nodded. “A mother bears a heavy responsibility.”

  “As does a father. But they were happy to bless the bride and groom.”

  I started again toward home, but my nosy neighbor bounced along at my side. “Did anything unusual happen at the wedding?”

  Still walking, I cast him a sidelong look. “Etan and Galya of Cana were married.”

  “And?”

  “And they had a feast.”

  “And?”

  Exasperated, I stopped. “What is it you wish to know? It was a wedding like any other.”

  “Not from what I hear.”

  I crossed my arms. “Suppose you tell me how it was different.”

  The man lifted his gaze to heaven, then clasped his hands. “I heard the story from the butcher, who heard it from a woman at the wedding—a cousin of the bride, I believe. She said the wine became more and more watered down as the feast continued, until it was barely more satisfying than water. But on the last day, when she feared they would have nothing to drink, the servants filled their cups with the most exquisite wine imaginable! She couldn’t believe the headwaiter would withhold the best wine until the end of the feast.”

  I sighed. “Indeed. You have heard the truth; the steward waited until the end to serve the best wine.”

  “But why?”

  I shrugged. “Perhaps he forgot he had it.”

  “Or . . .” The man leaned close enough to blow his sour breath in my face. “Perhaps it was a miracle! One of the servants told a woman at the wedding that your brother had the servants fill the water jars with runoff from the cistern. Rainwater! But as the servants served the water, it turned into fine wine!”

  I stared at the man, whose enthusiasm was all but squirting out his ears. “I know nothing about the servants or a miracle,” I said, careful not to inflame the man’s fervor. “I was there for the groom, not the wine.”

  “Did you drink it?”

  “I did.”

  “Was it unusual?”

  “It was . . . good.”

  “Oh, to have a sip of it myself!” The man clapped his hands. “I don’t care where it came from, a poor man can only dream of such delights! Perhaps it was from a heavenly vineyard!”

  Blowing out a breath, I snapped my chin in farewell and walked up the curving lane that led to our home.

  As we left Cana, my mother could tell I was not enthusiastic about going to Capernaum, so she suggested I go home to tend to the house. I had been only too happy to accept her suggestion and leave the others behind.

  At the top of the staircase, I opened the front door and breathed in air that smelled of dust and disuse. I walked through the house and opened the shutters, then went downstairs to be sure the chickens had not eaten all their feed. I gathered several eggs from the shadowy corner behind the door, placed them in a bowl, and took them upstairs. The donkey had been loaned to a neighbor, so I would not have to worry about cleaning the dirt floors.

  I had just unfastened my sandals when someone knocked. When I opened the door, I saw a man I recognized from the synagogue—Chanon Phineas, a wealthy merchant who specialized in trade between Magdala and the city of Tiberias. Why he chose to live in Nazareth, I would never understand.

  “Chanon Phineas,” I said, bowing slightly. “Shalom.”

  “Shalom to you,” he answered, returning my bow. “May I come in?”

  I could not imagine what business he had with me, but I stepped aside and invited him in. He strolled into the house, spotted a chicken who had followed me up the stairs, and adjusted his outer tunic as if afraid of getting dirt on the fabric.

  “Next year,” he began, his lips parting in a dazzling display of white teeth, “I will celebrate an anniversary with my wife—we will have been married thirty years.”

  I folded my arms. “Mazel tov.”

  “Thank you. I want to make her a bed—an ornate bed, in the Greek style, with pillars at the four corners and elaborate carvings on the headboard. I have seen the work that comes out of this house, and I am certain you are the family to make my anniversary bed.”

  I tugged on my beard, thinking. Our father had taught his sons how to use an axe and hammer, a grindstone and measure, for he wanted us to be skilled in his chosen trade. But as our ages differed, so did our abilities, and Yeshua was the only one qualified to do the sort of intricate carving this man wanted. James might be able to do the work, yet it would take him at least twice as long as Yeshua . . . “When do you want the bed delivered?”

  “Next year. My beloved wife and I just celebrated our anniversary, and this year, to mark the occasion, I gave her a beautiful horse.”

  I lifted a brow, wondering at the petulant expression on his face. “Was your wife not pleased with her gift?”

  “My wife does not ride,” Chanon Phineas answered, “so no, she did not appreciate the magnificent stallion in our barn. She was full of temper and would have railed against me all night except for my promise that I would do better next year. I would give her something truly spectacular, something no one else would have. And that”—he shrugged—“is the anniversary bed. Can you and your brothers have it finished in twelve months?”

  I stared at the wall, mentally picturing my brothers’ faces and their capabilities. Joses, Simeon, and I could easily build a frame and cut and carve the pillared supports in twelve months’ time. The headboard, however . . . Yeshua could surely do the work in that amount of time, but James? I turned back to my customer. “How intricate would you like the headboard to be? Have you seen something we could use as a model?”

  “Good question, young man, and yes. When we were last in Rome, I had an artist draw an illustration of what I expect to receive.”

  “Do you travel to Rome often?”

  “As frequently as necessary for business. I am always telling the Roman craftsmen that our people do equally fine work.”

  I took the parchment he offered and unfolded it. The bed looked just as I had imagined it, although the headboard was more detailed than the image in my head. On a solid slab of wood positioned between two wooden Doric columns, someone had drawn a multi-petaled flower rising from the base of the headboard like the morning sun. Rows of symmetrical petals outlined the flower’s center, and where the petals stopped, twisting leaves and vines filled the remaining space with intricate patterns, whirls, and curling stems.

 
; I returned the sketch to its owner. “I am not certain, Chanon Phineas, that we can do this work for you in the time allotted. My elder brother, the most skilled at this sort of carving, has been traveling throughout the region—”

  “I will pay ten talents for the bed. You and your brothers can divide the sum as you please.”

  The figure snatched my breath away. Ten talents was more than we would earn in our lifetimes. Ten talents was enough to buy sixty thousand sheep. If we completed this job, we would never need to work again. Our mother would not have to fear old age. We could build a bigger house, one where we could all live comfortably under one roof. My brothers would be able to afford dowries and take wives, and so could I, if I wanted to . . .

  I found myself nodding in agreement. “We can make this bed.”

  “I must have your word on this,” Chanon Phineas said. “I cannot risk failure in this venture. I have promised my wife an extraordinary surprise, and if you cannot deliver . . .” He opened his hands and shrugged, indicating that our fate would be dire indeed.

  “We will do it,” I promised, gripping his outstretched hand. “We will deliver your anniversary bed one year from now. But I will need a deposit, for I must purchase tools and materials.”

  “Of course.”

  Chanon Phineas pulled a purse from his robe and took from it two silver talents. I accepted them, grateful to have coin in my hands. I would need money to find my brothers and convince them—all of them—to come home and begin this work at once.

  I walked my guest to the door, bade him farewell, then stood in the silent house and considered the agreement I had just made on my brothers’ behalf. James, Joses, and Simeon would be delighted by the news. Our mother would worry that we would not be able to complete the work, yet I would set her mind at ease.

  Yeshua, however, might be a problem. He had not picked up a lathe or a blade in over a year, and he no longer lived in Nazareth. When I did see him, he seemed preoccupied, as though his thoughts had wandered far from the family business. But surely a project like this—along with its tantalizing reward—would bring him back to us.

  I moved to the rear of the house, where we stored our tools. I would prepare everything and clear out a space to do the work, then order wood for the bed. Once Shabbat was over, I would set out for Capernaum. Since I would be walking north, I would have to pass through Cana. I could stop at Etan’s home, certain that he and Galya would be happy to loan me a beast for my journey. My own donkey would have to remain in Nazareth because my neighbor needed him.

  If by some chance I happened to see Tasmin again, I would ask if she wanted me to give her brother a message. Surely she would. So I could not leave meeting her to chance, but would have to stop by her house and speak to her.

  I found myself looking forward to the journey.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tasmin

  How odd that preparing for Etan and Galya’s wedding could be invigorating and clearing away so depressing. I had worked other weddings and had energy to spare when the festivities ended, but by the time I had returned the last platter and serving bowl, I was so exhausted that Etan and Galya insisted I remain with them over Shabbat. Abba and I accepted their hospitality, though I suspected Abba did so because he wanted another opportunity to debate Etan’s father over the Shabbat meal.

  After the candles had been lit and the Shabbat blessing given, we ate a simple dinner. Abba and Etan’s father argued over whether the kingdom of God would be established in this world or the next. I did not join in the conversation, for I cared little for discussions about the finer points of the Torah, as no one ever seemed to have a definitive answer. The Pharisees took one position, the Sadducees another, with a host of Torah teachers and Essenes holding varying opinions that ranged from idiotic to impractical.

  As for me, I was content to know that God reigned in heaven and gave us four regular seasons. Except for granting me the blessings of Thomas and Abba, He had never done anything unusual for me . . . or for anyone else of my acquaintance. He had healed us from no serious diseases, He had not made us rich, and He had not saved my mother from death. While the people of Cana lived and died and Israel suffered under Roman and Jewish tyrants, Abba insisted that I love HaShem with all my heart. For what reason, I wondered, was I supposed to love Him so?

  In all my years, I had never received a satisfactory answer.

  When dinner was over and the men too sated to debate further, I walked out to the courtyard. The garden, which had overflowed with life only a few hours before, now seemed desolate. The dancers had worn circles in the sparse ground cover, and the flowering shrubs had been picked clean.

  But I found solace in the silence because I needed to think. I wanted to set out for Capernaum as soon as Shabbat ended, and I knew Abba would not approve of my traveling alone. He would approve of my task, for he did not trust Yeshua any more than I did, but a woman should not travel alone on the roads, especially after dark.

  So I would have to convince him I could manage alone.

  The next morning I awoke, dressed, and braided my hair because the sun would be hot on the road. I strapped on my sandals and gathered the few things I had brought with me to the wedding. I went to the synagogue as usual with Abba. Then we said farewell to Etan and Galya and returned to our home, where I gathered what I would need for my journey. As soon as the sun set, I planned to light a torch and walk as far north as Jotopata, no more than an hour’s walk. I would find a place at the inn or sleep under a tree, then rise with the sun to continue walking north. If all went well, I would reach Capernaum by the end of the day.

  After dinner, I stood in my chamber, my hands pressed to the door as my father’s booming voice seeped from the crack beneath it. From his tone I knew he had company, and when his guest departed he would prepare for bed. He would want to bless me before he went to his room, so if I was going to make my case, this was the time. If he became adamant about refusing to let me go, perhaps he would suggest a friend or neighbor who could be persuaded to keep me company on the walk north.

  I opened my door and startled Aunt Dinah, who was about to sit on the couch. “There she is!” She smiled as she lowered her considerable weight to the seat. “The one who baked so many delicious foods for the wedding. They will be talking about your cakes for years to come.”

  “You will get many requests now.” Abba waggled his brows at me. “Your services will be in high demand. Every bridegroom’s father will want to hire you.”

  “Hire me and Thomas,” I added, keeping my voice light. “We are a team.”

  “Thomas does supply the strength,” Dinah said, nodding, “but I have never seen him bake anything worth eating. And the food, dear girl, is why people come to a feast. They want to eat and drink.” She frowned at Abba. “About that wine—have we solved the mystery of its origin?”

  “That reminds me.” I sank to the floor by Abba’s chair and propped my hands on his knee. “I am concerned about Thomas.”

  “As am I.” A melancholy frown flitted across my father’s features. “I do not understand why he wanted to leave with that man from Nazareth.”

  “I believe that man is a rebel,” I continued. “I spent some time talking with Jude, Yeshua’s brother, and he does not think much of Yeshua’s work, either. So I have decided to do something about it.”

  Abba’s brows shot up to his hairline. “What would you do?”

  “Before they left, Mary invited me to join her family in Capernaum. I want to go there and speak to Thomas alone. I’m sure I can make him see how risky this venture is. If he doesn’t believe me, I’ll remind him that we three are a team, and we need him to help with the grove. And I cannot manage a wedding feast alone.”

  Abba’s forehead knit in puzzlement. “You want to go to Capernaum?”

  “Is Thomas in trouble?” Dinah interrupted. “Do you know something we don’t? I know you can sense when he is in trouble—”

  “I’m not sensing anything, Aunt,
but I am not at peace with his decision to follow this man Yeshua. Has a prophet ever come out of Nazareth? What do we know about him?”

  Abba tugged on his beard. “Apparently he turned rainwater into wine.”

  “Did he?” I sat back and crossed my arms. “I spent an hour looking for the barrel or wineskins he must have hidden away. No one has the power to turn water into wine.”

  “A prophet from Adonai could.” Dinah lifted a warning finger. “You cannot prove he is not a prophet.”

  “With respect, Aunt, can you prove he is?” I shifted my attention and looked into my father’s eyes. “Please, Abba, I am worried about Thomas. I will not be able to rest until he is home where he belongs.”

  Abba narrowed his gaze for a moment, then sighed. “I would be happy to go with you, daughter, but I am no longer a young man. The journey would be too much for me.”

  “I’ll go alone, then. I will sleep at inns and—”

  “You will not travel alone.” Dinah stamped her foot. “Only indecent women prowl the roads alone. The road is not safe for a woman, especially a righteous woman. There are Romans and bandits and murderers, and above all, the lestes.”

  Her caution provoked a shudder, despite my urgent desire to make the trip. The lestes were not ordinary roadway bandits. Their attacks were particularly violent, often resulting in murder, and were usually aimed at Romans or Jews suspected of collaborating with Romans.

  “The lestes will not be interested in an ordinary woman. And if it will persuade you to let me go, I promise to find a passing family and travel with them. Please, Abba. If I leave now, I should be able to reach Jotopata in an hour or—”

  “Leave now, in the dark?” Abba shook his head. “If Adonai meant for you to go to Capernaum alone, He would have made you a man. I cannot allow this thing. Sometimes your ideas are too unseemly for a woman.”