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Chapter
1
Elisabeth
“The men are coming now,” Sapphira said in a bright,
singsong tone.
Elisabeth’s heart stuttered at the
thought of catching Zacharias’s gaze. He would be among the men returning from
the temple. She secured her white linen mantle closer about her face,
preventing the warm summer breeze, fragrant with the scent of the blooming
fields beyond, from tugging strands loose from her plaited hair.
Would Zacharias even look beyond the
cluster of men with whom he traveled? He and the men in his family descended
from the lineage of Abijah, and
twice a year, the men visited Jerusalem to spend a week serving in the temple. Since
Zacharias was not yet thirty, he didn’t perform priest duties, but he still
traveled with his father during their temple week. Elisabeth’s father, Aaron,
was also a priest, descended from Father Aaron.
“I see him,” Sapphira said a little
too loudly.
“Hush,” Elisabeth said. “I don’t want
him to know we’re watching.”
Sapphira laughed. At least it was a
quiet laugh.
It was all Elisabeth could do to calm
her pounding heart and breathe normally as the group of men approached the
market square. She wished she could be more confident like her cousin Sapphira,
who was older by three years, already married, and with her first child on the
way. They’d spent the past week together painting pottery—jars for water or
wine, and lamps for oil and incense.
This morning, they’d arrived early to
market in order to set up all their wares and—in Sapphira’s estimation—to be
early enough to view the men returning from the temple. She’d estimated right.
A couple of other vendors had arrived
early as well. Old woman Tabitha had a small fire blazing and was already
cooking flatbread. She’d have a large stack when the first shoppers appeared.
Old man Ezra had his usual cart of embroidered cushions on display. Elisabeth
suspected he slept at the market half the time, even though he had some
property with a small hut on the outskirts of the village.
Her friend Rhoda would surely be
arriving soon with her display of clay dolls she made with miniature
embroidered tunics, painted faces, and wheat grass for hair. They were
excellent toys and sold well, especially to travelers.
Across the square, a traveling
merchant was organizing trinkets in his cart. His oily beard and multiple rings
on his fingers glittered in the morning light. The man had been at their market
the past few days, peddling bracelets, anklets, earrings, and small statues.
Some of the statues were idol gods, so Elisabeth had stayed away from his wares
altogether. He was an aggressive seller, and he wasn’t modest about the value
and beauty of the idols. Maybe he thought that, this far away from the temple
in Jerusalem, he could tempt people to buy more.
Elisabeth hoped he wouldn’t approach
her cart and strike up a conversation. His frequent glances their way were
already making her uncomfortable. Sapphira hadn’t seemed to notice, so
Elisabeth hadn’t mentioned it.
“Perhaps the men will stop for some
flatbread,” Sapphira said. “The smell is making me hungry.”
“Me too,” Elisabeth said, although
she’d had a decent breakfast of leftover honey cake from last night’s supper that
she drizzled with a syrup made from sweet figs.
The group of men entered the market
square now, leading donkeys laden with bundles of temple tithes, a portion of
which was given to the officiating priests. Elisabeth knew the portions
included parts of the sacrificed animals and distributions of fruits and
grains. Not all the distributions were kept in each priest’s family, but were given
to widows and those in the village who were poor.
Elisabeth fully expected the group to continue
straight through, immersed in their conversations. Would any of the men stop to
purchase flatbread or inspect the traveling merchant’s trinkets? Surely anything
they’d needed, they’d procured in the Jerusalem markets where the variety was
much greater.
Elisabeth took another quick peek at
the travelers, then busied herself with the pottery arrangement. Her family
lived a comfortable life due to the extra offerings her father procured on his
temple visits, as well as his skills in caring for cattle. So it wasn’t that
Elisabeth needed to earn any sort of income, but she was more than happy to
help out her cousin.
“You arrived quite early,” a woman
said, and Elisabeth looked up to see Rhoda, carrying a basket containing the
goods she’d be selling today.
Rhoda was about Elisabeth’s age,
though a handsbreadth taller, and she had narrow-set eyes. Rhoda had a habit of
squinting a lot, but she was also quick to laugh. Today, she wore a red mantle
edged in silver thread and a dark peach tunic. She always wore the brightest
colors, and she didn’t mind the attention it brought.
“We have a lot of pottery to sell,” Sapphira
said in a voice as flat as sandstone.
Elisabeth wasn’t sure why Sapphira
didn’t like Rhoda. Regardless, Elisabeth stepped forward to embrace her friend.
Rhoda hugged her, then stepped back,
her scent of pomegranate oil permeating the air.
Bits of conversation from the group
of men floated across the market square, and Rhoda turned to look at the men.
“Oh, the priests are returning today. I’d forgotten about that.”
Sapphira snickered from the other
side of the cart, and Elisabeth smiled. They both knew Rhoda hadn’t forgotten
any such thing.
“I suppose you came early to spy upon
the unmarried men.” Rhoda winked.
Elisabeth wasn’t about to admit anything
to Rhoda. Even though she was a friend, the woman couldn’t keep anything in
confidence. The moment Rhoda knew anything, it somehow spread through the
entire village.
“Or we have a lot of work to
do,” Sapphira cut in for her.
Rhoda ignored the comment. “You know,
my mother overheard my father say that Zacharias is very serious about finding
a wife this year.”
Elisabeth willed her cheeks to remain
cool while she remained quiet.
“Oh, interesting.” Sapphira gave a
small grin. “I think I heard that about Reuben, too.”
“Hmm, perhaps,” Rhoda said with an
easy shrug. “Reuben is of age, and he does have a profession to support a
family, so I suppose he would be a good choice for someone other than me.”
Reuben was a friendly sort and came
from a long line of herdsmen. There was talk about Reuben setting his sights on
Rhoda, but she seemed not to care so much for him. Unless she was keeping her
options open.
“Well,” Rhoda continued, brushing at
an invisible speck on her colorful tunic, making her bracelets jangle,
“Zacharias and his father will probably stop at your cart when they pass, since
your families have been friends for years.” Her dark eyes settled on Elisabeth.
“I might not have known him as a boy like you, but he’s an impressive man,
don’t you think so?”
Elisabeth wasn’t sure how to answer Rhoda’s
question. Was Rhoda impressed with him, or was she hinting for Elisabeth
to be impressed with him?
Sapphira cut in again. “Yes,
Zacharias is part of a great family.”
Again, Rhoda wrinkled her nose. “I
wouldn’t extend that to his brother, Asher. A bit of a brute, he is.” She smiled
prettily. “Tell Zacharias hello for me if he stops. Also, let him know my
mother wants to pay his mother a visit in the next few days.”
Elisabeth opened her mouth to answer,
to ask why she should be in the middle of a neighborly visit, but Rhoda turned
away. She skirted the market square until she found the usual place to set up
her dolls.
“That woman wants your man,” Sapphira
said when she was out of earshot.
Elisabeth swung around to look at Sapphira.
“He’s not my man. And how do you know Rhoda feels that way about
Zacharias?”
“Did the sun rise this morning?” Sapphira
asked with a laugh. “Rhoda is pining after him, and I’ll bet she’s heard the
rumors, too, just like me. So she’s baiting you to see what you’ll confess to
her.”
Elisabeth didn’t believe in the
rumors that Sapphira claimed to have heard—that Zacharias intended to ask for
her hand in marriage. Regardless, it made her uncomfortable to think about her
friend liking Zacharias in that way . . .
Elisabeth released a breath as she
glanced over at the group of men and their donkeys on the other side of the
market square. It wasn’t like she was nervous to speak to Zacharias, should he
happen past their cart. They’d spoken plenty of times. Not recently, but their
families had been friends since childhood. When he reached the age of twelve,
he had spent more time in synagogue learning, and conversations between them
had become rare. Besides, as Elisabeth had reached the age of womanhood, it
wasn’t proper to run the hills with a boy who wasn’t her brother, playing
games, tossing rocks into the springs, or searching for crown daisies containing
the most petals.
No, Zacharias was on his way to
becoming a scholar, and Elisabeth spent her hours in preparation for running
her own household and raising her own children someday.
Why Sapphira thought they needed to
spy on the man now was due to the fact that Zacharias’s father had approached
Elisabeth’s father a fortnight ago with the request to meet with him after harvest.
Because of that request, Sapphira had
pronounced that Zacharias intended to make Elisabeth his betrothed. But a
meeting between the two men could be about myriad things—land or flocks or the
harvest. Yes, she’d been eligible for a couple of years to marry, but her
mother’s—Sarah’s—ill health had kept away a betrothal since she was the only
daughter still at home left to aid her mother. Now that Mother had been doing
much better for a few months, perhaps a betrothal was on the horizon.
But Elisabeth didn’t know if she
could fully believe in Sapphira’s predictions, or at least wouldn’t allow
herself to hope. Thus, she hadn’t let her mind dwell on what it might be like
to be chosen as a wife by Zacharias. After all, there were several eligible men
in Ein Karem, this hillside village that lay west of Jerusalem, and none of those
men would be terrible choices for a husband.
There was Reuben, of course, who was
rumored to be interested in Rhoda. Another man, James, was a stone worker and
quite skilled, with a promising future. He was widowed with a lively three-year-old
son. And finally, there was David, an apprentice blacksmith, who probably
wouldn’t seek a wife for another year or two when he had the means to provide
for one. He was also among the group of men traveling with Zacharias and his
father. But it wasn’t David whom Elisabeth hoped to view.
She saw Zacharias then, walking near
the back of the group, leading a bundle-laden donkey, and all other convoluted
thoughts fled. He was in conversation with his father, and their discussion
seemed quite animated—but friendly as well. Not an argument, then. It had been
maybe a year since she’d spoken one-on-one with Zacharias, so every recent
observation had been made from afar.
He’d grown at least a handspan taller
than his father. His dark hair waved to his shoulders, and he kept his modest beard
cropped short like most of the other young men. She knew without standing close
to him that his eyes were deep brown—the color of earth after rain. Just then,
his head turned, and his gaze lifted. It took Elisabeth a moment to realize he
was looking right at her, and she was staring back.
Cheeks hotter than boiling water, she
looked down at the clay lamp she held in her hands. From the corner of her eye,
she saw the group of men approach the bread seller and make purchases.
Was Zacharias buying bread too? Would
he pass by her cart? It wasn’t the direct route through the market square. And
men didn’t usually buy pottery for their households, since they left that to
their wives and daughters . . . She focused on the display before her,
rearranging what didn’t need to be adjusted, but it kept her hands busy and her
eyes focused.
“They’re coming this way,” Sapphira
whispered.
Elisabeth didn’t reply. Whatever was
there to say? Either Zacharias spoke to her or he didn’t. She certainly wasn’t
going to be the one to speak first—
“Your pottery designs are very
elegant,” a man said in a thick accent, and Elisabeth knew immediately it was
the foreign merchant.
Why had the man chosen this moment to
cross the square and speak to them?
But Sapphira greeted him with a sweet
smile. “Are you in need of a lamp to bring light to your evening meal, or
perhaps your wife would like something pretty to fill with wine?”
The merchant’s grin broadened, and as
the breeze stirred about them, Elisabeth caught his scent of something like
spoiled fruit.
“I have no wife, but I would never
turn down such a kind offer.” He reached for a jug and shifted it from one hand
to the other, as if the weight of the jug signified the value of the painted
designs. “What is the price you are asking?”
Elisabeth’s gaze slid from the
merchant to Sapphira, silently pleading for her cousin to give him an expensive
price. She couldn’t explain it, but she didn’t want to trade with this
foreigner. Maybe because she felt that if he was willing to sell idols, then
his other goods were tainted.
Sapphira seemed to have no qualms
though. “These are very fine pottery pieces, and the paint comes from dyes we
mixed ourselves.”
The merchant picked up one of the serving
bowls, his easy smile still in place. He ran a finger along the edge. “Smooth
and well-crafted.” His eyes lifted to study Elisabeth. “One of yours?”
“I . . . yes,” she managed to say.
His eyes were a strange mixture of
green and brown. His nose was long and narrow, and his dark hair streaked with
silver strands. She guessed him to be older than her father.
“Ah, I see the designs are as
delicate as the artist,” he rumbled. “My name is Tobias, and it’s a pleasure to
meet you.”
Elisabeth only nodded, then walked to
the other side of the cart to pick up a cloth, acting as if she needed to dust
a few pieces.
The group of men that included
Zacharias had moved through the market square now and were nearly to the end
where the road led to the village homes built across the hills. A quick glance
told her most had bought flatbread, and now they were anxious to be reunited
with their families.
“What about a trade for two sets of
pretty bracelets?” the merchant’s voice cut through her thoughts. “One set for
each of you?”
Sapphira clasped her hands and said
in a cheerful tone, “I’m afraid I’m not interested in jewelry since my husband
provides that.”
“Then . . . your sister?”
“Cousin,” Sapphira amended. “It is up
to her.”
The man’s glittering eyes were upon
her once again. “Do you have a husband who gifts you with beautiful jewelry?”
Elisabeth swallowed against her
dust-dry throat. “I-I do not.” She didn’t like how the man’s eyes gleamed.
“Or perhaps you’d like a pretty
statue that I carved myself.” From the satchel at his waist, he pulled out a
small stone idol, its body elongated and its arms raised.
The sight of the idol up close felt
like a fire iron had been driven into her chest. “N-no thank you,” Elisabeth
said, wondering why she was stumbling over her words. “I am not an idol-worshipper.”
The merchant tilted his head, his
grin reappearing. “Of course you wouldn’t want to worship a rudimentary stone
idol. You could be your own goddess. Men would come far and wide to sit at your
feet and take in your beauty.”
Elisabeth didn’t know whether to feel
horrified or laugh at the inanity of this man’s comment. The morning sun had
risen higher, and with it the heat of the day had blossomed, and perspiration prickled
at her neck.
Before she could respond to the
merchant, Sapphira said in a firm tone, “We thank you for your interest in our
pottery, but there will be no trading from us.”
The man didn’t seem affected by Sapphira’s
sharp retort. “I understand. I don’t want a husband thinking I gave any gifts
to his wife,” he said in a too-pleasant tone, then locked his attention on
Elisabeth. “Yet if your cousin is unmarried, there is no man to contend with.
Please accept my humble and neighborly gift—even if it’s unworthy of your
beauty.”
Her stomach knotted when he set the
stone idol on the edge of the cart. One jostle and it would teeter and fall. It
was almost as if the man were daring her to turn down a gift—something that
would be considered very ill-mannered.
But there was no help for that. “I
cannot accept your gift.” Elisabeth tried to keep her voice steady, even though
her pulse leapt about like a grasshopper. “The market will soon be busy, and
you’ll have plenty of traders.”
The merchant stepped closer, coming
right up to the cart. Thankfully, Elisabeth was on the other side of it, but
his cloying scent of rotten fruit intensified.
“I will keep this for you, my
friend,” he said in a steady tone, wrapping his fingers around the idol. “So
when you change your mind, you won’t have to worry. It will be safe with me,
and all you have to do is show your lovely smile, and it will be yours—”
“What will be hers?” another
man said, his form suddenly appearing in Elisabeth’s line of vision.
She snapped her gaze over. Zacharias
stood there—but how? Hadn’t he left the market with the others?
She glanced past him to see that he
wasn’t alone. His father, Daniel, stood a few paces away, arms folded, brows furrowed
as if he was waiting for Zacharias to ask for assistance, should he need it.
“Good day, sir,” the merchant said
with a bow. “Might you be in need of a trinket or a beautiful piece of jewelry
for your wife? Sister? Mother?”
But Zacharias wasn’t looking at the
merchant. He was looking at her, his dark eyes searching. “Are you all right,
Elisabeth?”
“Y-yes,” she murmured.
His gaze shifted to her cousin.
“Sapphira?”
“Of course. This man was just
returning to his own side of the market.”
“Well, now . . .” The merchant took a
couple of steps back. “I can return to my cart, of course, but if anyone is
interested in an early morning bargain, I can provide one.”
Zacharias faced the merchant and
lifted his arm, pointing at the man’s cart. “I suggest you pack up your wares
and head to another village. There will be no trading for you today.”
The merchant’s face flooded with
color, and his brows tugged together. “I have every right to trade here, like
any merchant. I was here last week, and I didn’t see you or any of your men.”
Elisabeth noticed that the other men
hadn’t gone far outside the market. They’d returned and now stood with Zacharias’s
father. They might have all just spent a week serving in the holy temple, but
currently, they looked like they wouldn’t hesitate to throw a man out of their
market.
“You have three choices.” Zacharias
folded his arms. “Leave now on your own or be escorted out.” He tilted his
head. “Or we could settle this one-on-one.”
As scrappy as the merchant might be
compared to Zacharias’s taller and broader height, he seemed to realize that he
was completely outnumbered. He gripped the idol in his hand and stalked to his
cart. There, he packed up his wares, throwing a glower or two over his
shoulder.
Zacharias remained in his stance, and
the other men with him stayed to watch too. No one spoke. Sapphira scooted to Elisabeth’s
side and grasped her hand. Other vendors arrived at the upper end of the
market, but no one paid attention to the unfolding situation.
In a handful of minutes, the merchant
had packed up, then he hitched his cart to a donkey grazing not far off. With a
few muttered oaths, he sent a final scathing look toward Zacharias. Then he
headed out of the market space, urging his donkey into a trot.
As the merchant cleared the market, Zacharias’s
father clapped him on the shoulder, then turned to leave with the other men.
Were they going to follow the merchant out of the village boundaries? Or simply
disperse themselves?
Sapphira squeezed her hand, then
released it. “Thank you for your help, Zacharias. It saved Elisabeth from
knocking him over the head with one of our jars.”
Elisabeth appreciated the quip, but
her heart was still pounding too hard to catch a full breath.
Zacharias focused on the women. “If
you are both well, then I’ll return before sundown and make sure you travel
home safely. I don’t trust that man to stay away.”
Elisabeth opened her mouth to ask how
he could know such a thing when Sapphira said, “Thank you. My husband will be
working until after dark, I am sure.”
Zacharias nodded.
So would he and all the men. The grape
harvest was upon them, beginning yesterday, and
no matter what a man’s profession, they all joined in the harvest work. But
Zacharias was willing to take time from his family’s work to make sure they
walked the short distance to their homes.
“We will be fine,” Elisabeth assured
him, finding her voice at last. “That merchant will soon realize he’ll have
more success elsewhere and not bother us again.”
Zacharias’s deep brown eyes didn’t
shift, didn’t question. He simply said, “I’ll be here at sundown.”
