eyes. When Saada steps out to pick more herbs, he chances to appraise his baking partner.
A smudge of flour sits like snow upon her dark skin, the color of kaffa brightened with golden honey. Mary notices his stare. “What? Do I have as much flour on my face as you?”
He chuckles softly and wipes the tip of her nose, “There, you look less like a baker now.” The soft texture of her cheek reminds him of a ripe mango. He must refrain from touching her. “I do not know how it is possible, but your beauty is enhanced with the pregnancy.”
To his dismay and delight, she clasps his rough hand and tucks it just under her chin. “You, my friend, have a penchant for voluptuous women.”
“Honestly, Mary, can I not offer you a compliment?”
“Of course not, dear man, or I would be in danger of favoring you.” He would gladly brave that danger. The expression on her face changes to one he cannot resist.
“Teoma, do you think it would be possible to go back to the wilderness for our anniversary?”
Frowning, he does not think he can tolerate escorting them to celebrate their marriage. He tries to discourage her. “In your condition, Mary, it is not wise.”
Abruptly she stands placing her hands on her round belly as if for emphasis. He tries to suppress his mirth, for being due in only three months, she is still quite petite.
“My condition? I have seen many pregnant women accompanying their husbands on pilgrimages to the Holy Temple. Am I that much more fragile than they?”
“No, of course not,” none could be as fervid, he quickly counters, “but it was very difficult to get Joseph to feel comfortable with you outside the mists.”
Her small mouth quivers in a pout as she worries an errant sable curl, dusting its rich darkness with flour. Wringing her hands, she sighs and moves ever closer to him, looking up through long lashes black as kohl. Her green eyes capture his as she presses her delicate hands to his chest, “Please, we were perfectly safe with you.”
Unable to resist, he nods a weak consent praying Yeshua has perfected kasa so that his services will not be necessary. Perhaps young Jacob is ready to master disarming techniques, for Teoma needs an outlet far removed from the heat of this kitchen.
***
Nissan, 3773
I am blessed among men. A loving family and a glorious life made complete by my marriage to my beloved. I cannot believe a whole year has passed. My beloved carries within her precious womb our daughter made manifest by our love. Growing vigorously, the child’s hayye glows a golden delight nestled deeply in Mary’s royal hue of purple joy. What wonder is it to become an Abba? Never before has the world seemed so lovely, never has being human been so dear. Blessed is Eloha.
Since returning from our trip to the wilderness, I have been so tired; perhaps I should go to bed early and conserve my energy for the morrow. Martha has invited us to join them for Pesach. Our parents have made the journey to Jerusalem for only the High Priest can sacrifice the paschal lamb properly. Maybe Yeshua will take me in a cart to Magdala.
Reclining in the gathering room, I put my head on his shoulder.
“Are you ready for bed so soon, my love?” I nod, stifling a yawn. “Then let us say goodnight.”
Early spring flowers lend their sweet fragrance to our chambers. As I begin to unbraid my hair, which has grown even thicker, Yeshua comes up behind me whispering, “You must never cut it and give away your power.” Before I can inquire, his caresses distract me. What my pregnancy has made full and lush, our mutual desire whets further. Divesting himself of his tunic, he carefully undresses me then proceeds to take his time untangling my braids. He runs his hands through my curls, pressing himself against my back.
We both gasp, finding wonder even this far along in my pregnancy, but my heavy womb magnifies the rhythmic pulsations which begin at the top of my belly. Feeling the baby squirm as if being hugged too tightly, I have difficulty catching my breath.
Still within me, Yeshua reaches around to place his hand on my upper belly. The tightening has not relaxed, nor can I breathe very well. “Mary, what is happening?” I cannot answer. Sitting up, he holds his hands together and then separates them as if holding something round and moving. Through shallow gasps, I perceive a sphere of energy between his cupped palms.
Using the hayye, he begins circling my hard belly in spirals, then reverses the direction. The tightening lessens until I can breathe more deeply, but my womb remains sore.
Yeshua cups his hands together over his face, his shoulders shaking. Awkwardly, I sit up, “My love, all is well now. The baby and I are fine,” and take him in my arms. We fall asleep with his cheek pressed to my womb.
In light of Yeshua’s concern, I refrain from mentioning a visit to Magdala, but the next evening, the tightening comes back. Catching my breath, I hold my belly and try to be inconspicuous, but he notices. Leah and Saada cease serving the meal to alert Miriam. I take deeper, slower breaths while Yeshua repeatedly ministers to me with the energy. Thank goodness, it does not last as long.
“Is this the first time you have felt contractions, Mary?”
“No, Ima. Last night.” I place my hand on my aching back and yet another contraction occurs on the way to our quarters. When it is over, Miriam asks if I felt the contractions after any particular activity. I nod and glance at Yeshua. Hesitantly, he explains. Sensing the heat of his shame, I feel like a child having a child. What were we thinking?
After settling me in bed, Leah teaches Yeshua how to check if my womb is opening. They determine that while my womb is softening in preparation for delivery, the baby is not in position yet. Miriam advises that I rest, and of course, not be intimate, and all will be well.
Before they take their leave, I glance at my husband, whose guilt darkens his hayye, and whisper to Miriam. “Ima, I felt fine last night. Please tell Yeshua it is not his fault.”
Miriam holds out her arms and I sink into her lap. Without a backward glance, Yeshua walks into the sitting room, refusing his mother’s reassurance. A calming energy blankets me. “Since Yeshua was a small child, he has heard others talk about the prophecy of a mashiach who will bring freedom from oppression to the tribes.”
Held in her comforting embrace, I listen carefully, quite conscious of my breath. “Yeshua has always known he is here for a purpose. He has felt responsible for saving those he loved from harm, even from the lessons they are here to receive.”
What is my lesson? Miriam strokes my hair, “When life doesn’t go as he thinks, Yeshua feels he has failed in some way. He is working to accept his own humanity. You and the baby are assisting him with this journey. Yeshua must live and learn quickly to accomplish his perceived mission.”
The tears that have threatened all night begin spilling down my cheeks. Miriam holds me close. “Ima, are not each of our missions to be loved and live in joy?” She nods. “Then why must he suffer so?”
