the street.”
“If it were not for the Romans, we would still be pumping water from the village wells and relieving ourselves in buckets!”
Sons of the Chaverim, probably living in such conditions, look down. A scruffy one scowls at me. Teoma confides, “Mary certainly has an answer for everything!”
Yeshua nods, “That’s why I like her to accompany us.”
“Is that the only reason?”
I stifle a smile at Yeshua’s reddened cheeks. Before passing by the well, Teoma gathers the boys into a tight-knit group, effectively shielding me from the sharp eyes of the village women. Grateful that my mother shall not discover this escapade, I thank him.
Leaving the dusty road we head southeast toward Mount Tabor , but the smell of roasting meat halts the hungry boys. Despite passionate pleas, Yeshua can get them to go no further so Teoma conspires with the goatherd to feed us in return for milking the goats. Upset by the delay, Yeshua walks in small circles. I make my way over to him and take his arm. In the coolness of the late winter afternoon, it is damp.
“Have you eaten today?”
“I’m fasting.” He looks away as if I cannot possibly understand his devotion.
“Yesh, why must you suffer so?” Eyes shining like amber glass, he moves to a higher vista. Sighing, I find his cousin, a good friend to both of us.
“Teoma,” I touch his shoulder as he squats down to milk a brown and black spotted doe. He looks up and grins.
“What, green eyes?”
Stroking the goat’s head, I chastise myself for not curbing my passion. “I’m worried about Yeshua. He’s fasting again and I think he might collapse.”
“If only you were as concerned for the rest of us.”
“Please, will you bring him the first cut of meat?” Hastily, I stand, but he catches the hem of my sadin, halting my step.
“What?” I cry, frustrated by the delay.
“Perhaps we might…” Teoma murmurs through a half-considered smile, “Sorry, go watch over him.”
Partially obscured by weeping pepper tree branches, Yeshua rests in meditation. Carefully, I sit beside him, wishing he realized what I have always known. We are destined to be together.
“I have always loved you, Mary.”
A sob catches in my throat. Singing softly in the breeze, the lime-green leaves hover about us like a bridal veil. So long I have wanted to know his feelings, but now I feel strange. His lean brown hand cups my head, pouring icy river water down my back. I shiver as sweat beads on his upper lip, glistening on the fine down that will someday be a mustache. His breath smells sickly sweet, perhaps he speaks in delirium.
Finished with the chores, the boys recline about the pepper grove hungrily enjoying their reward. Yeshua rises at Teoma’s approach and takes the water skin. We silently wash our hands before sharing the meat. Yeshua’s hands tremble as he gives thanks. Teoma casts a worried glance my way.
“Yesh, please eat,” I beg.
Wavering on his feet, Yeshua falls into my lap, out cold.
Gray-green olive leaves rustle a warning as we return through the shadowed village. An empty courtyard greets us. Releasing Teoma’s steady grip, Yeshua sinks wearily upon some cushions just as his mother rushes in.
“Ima,” Yeshua implores, “please allow Mary to stay.”
Tears trailing through the dust on my face, I turn toward the doorway where Teoma stands prepared to escort me home.
“Mary, come join us. It is time.”
I take Miriam’s hand. Unconcerned by my tattered appearance, she leads me to a simple stone kiyyor and kneels to wash my feet and hands like a servant. We rise together and through a semi-sheer veil, enter an inner sanctum. Smooth basalt walls cradle burnished copper lamps flickering upon two intersecting triangles inlaid into the marble.
A sweet melody courses through me, but Miriam seems unaware. In fluid motion, I abandon myself to the swirling energy. The altar beckons, yet not until the music fades away and the hayye settles into a faint buzzing do I cease dancing. I kneel at the altar, my palms and forehead pressing gently against the cool stone, envisioning a star encased in a rose upon it.
Above the frantic beat of my heart, I feel someone enter the sanctum. Turning full circle, I see that Miriam has gone and in her place is… Yeshua.
Faintly self-conscious, I rise to my feet. Never before have we been alone in a room together. This room so sensuous, how might I control my passion? For heaven knows, I am desirous of his company.
Yeshua has not moved from the doorway, nor I from the altar, yet fate tightens invisible cords that bind our hearts. Where is Miriam? As I fret, she appears behind him.
“She is intuned to the energies, my son.” A sense of peace blankets me as she drapes a pale blue hooded mantle over my shoulders.
“Ima, may we have a moment alone?” Yeshua looks intently into her eyes. In spite of his charisma, Miriam shakes her head and draws me closer into her bosom.
The following morning, Yeshua and I sit before his parents in a study filled with scrolls, ancient and new. Without ceremony, his father begins. “It is tradition to announce the betrothal of a Davidic prince in Tammuz. After the winter solstice, the royal marriage will be consummated…”
Wedding! Looking at my expression, Joseph speaks more slowly, “… so the child conceived will be born in the month of kings.”
Feeling faint, I murmur, “I don’t understand.” Yeshua’s face darkens as Joseph clears his throat.
“You were betrothed to my son when you were but three.”
Twelve years and I have not known? My mother must have died a thousand deaths when my father accepted the son of a craftsman. Joseph supports his large family very well, but…All eyes study my reaction, I swallow thickly, “Yeshua is my heart’s desire, but I am shocked that my Abba would give me to him.”
Miriam and Joseph nod, well aware of the breach of tradition. Tzadokim never marry Chaverim!
Leaning across the table, Miriam reaches for my hand. “Dear one, your father shred my husband’s vision of your marriage to our son,” she gives Joseph a sidelong glance. “but the elders asked Yeshua to fulfill dynastic law.”
“What does that mean?” I look at my espoused.
“Nothing for you to worry about. We are to be married on the spring equinox. The Zadok’s will have to be satisfied, for this is divine timing.” Before Yeshua can speak further, Joseph raises his hand.
“Please, son, go talk this over.”
Yeshua leads me down the hall to a room off the garden. Wine red, forest green, midnight blue—rich sensual colors grace
