Mary and martha, p.1
Mary and Martha, page 1
Cover image Mary and Martha by Robert A. Boyd; for more information go to RobertABoyd.com
Cover design copyright © 2020 by Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.
American Fork, Utah
Copyright © 2020 by H.B. Moore
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect
the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.
First Printing: November 2020
978-1-52441-444-3
In loving memory of Kris Belcher. You are missed.
Character Chart
*Indicates fictitious names
Martha
Mary
Lazarus
Mary Magdalene
Mary: mother of James
Andrew
Simon Peter
Judas Iscariot
Thomas
Simon: the leper
*Leah: wife of Lazarus
*Rhode: son of Lazarus
*Nathaniel: son of Lazarus
*Naomi: daughter of Lazarus
*Asher: son of Lazarus
*Josiah: herb seller
*Zachary: widower
*Claudia: Zachary’s daughter
*Horeb: man in Galilee
*Yosef: first husband of Martha
*Isaac: Mary’s betrothed
*Delilah: Isaac’s mother
*Sarah: blind woman in Galilee
*David: landowner
*Eunice: neighbor, David’s wife
*Joel: neighbor
*Phebe: neighbor
*Tamara: neighbor
*Elder Gideon: synagogue instructor
*Benjamin: village man
Chapter One
Martha
Martha knelt on the patch of stubby grass poking through the stony ground of her late husband’s burial place. Yosef had been gone three years now, but her grief had yet to ebb. A gust of winter wind tugged at her mantle, and she grasped it tightly beneath her chin. She rarely came to the burial ground so late in the day, but this past week had been extra busy with preparations for the betrothal celebration for her younger sister, Mary.
Closing her eyes for a moment against a sky splashed gold and violet with the setting sun, Martha refocused on her memories of Yosef. They’d been married less than a year, and no children had resulted from their union. Yosef had been a kind, fair man who owned the olive grove next to her family’s. Yosef and Martha’s brother, Lazarus, had made many journeys together to Galilee to trade and sell olive oil.
It was during one of his journeys that Yosef had been waylaid by bandits on the road through the Jordan Valley.
Martha would never forget the day her brother, Lazarus, had delivered the news to her. Even now, at the memory, her eyes burned with too-familiar tears.
“Papa, is that woman sad too?”
Martha heard the small voice before she saw a man with a young girl coming up the slope that rose from the village. Martha opened her eyes but remained kneeling on the winter grass, her hands clutching her mantle.
The man murmured something Martha couldn’t hear.
“Can we speak to her?” the young girl asked, her voice clear and carrying on the wind like an errant feather.
The man’s next reply was audible but low. “We don’t want to interrupt her contemplation.”
“What is contemplation?” the girl asked.
Martha almost smiled. The question was a fair one for a child so young. Even at a quick glance, Martha guessed the child to be six or seven.
The man’s patient sigh was scattered by the wind, and Martha wondered what had brought this man and his daughter to the burial site.
“Contemplation means that someone is remembering their loved ones,” the man continued.
“Like Mother is our loved one?”
The child’s forlorn voice wedged itself into one of the cracks of Martha’s heart, and her attention again strayed to the man and child.
The father held his daughter’s hand as they stood over a tomb marker, the wind making brisk work against their clothing. Curiosity ebbed through Martha as she tried to identify the man. His dark curls reached his shoulders, and his beard was cut short. He was tall, lean, and his face was tanned from the outdoors, although they were in the middle of the cold season.
His daughter’s long hair was plaited over her shoulder, and her clothing hung loose, as if it had been fashioned from a much larger garment.
Ah, now Martha recognized the pair. She’d never met them formally because they lived on the outskirts of Bethany. Zachary was the man’s name, and he was a shepherd who’d relocated from Jerusalem after a land dispute with his twin brother. The story that had circulated throughout the village was that Zachary had given up his land inheritance in exchange for two-thirds of the family flocks.
She wasn’t sure what his daughter’s name was, but Martha remembered the funeral of his wife only weeks before. She’d died delivering an infant son, and the babe had died as well.
So much death, the swirling wind seemed to whisper. So much tragedy. So much despair.
Martha’s heart felt like it was being crushed between two stones. She didn’t want to remember her own losses right now. There was no time anyway. This short escape from her chores was all she could afford, and then she had to return and grind enough barley for the extra bread she’d make for the betrothal ceremony guests.
Martha missed Yosef with a renewed pang, but as she looked at the father and daughter, she realized she’d been fortunate to have both her parents throughout her childhood, as well as her two siblings, Lazarus and Mary.
And Yosef’s remains were deep in the tomb beneath the stone slab she knelt next to. His family tomb, like many of the family tombs on this rocky hillside above her village of Bethany, held generations of memories and lives lost too soon. At least he’d been buried in the town of his birth.
Before Martha could lower her eyes, Zachary looked up. In the instant before the vagabond shepherd nodded in acknowledgment, she saw the depth of his grief. Martha recognized that grief right away because it had been her constant companion these past three years.
The little girl’s round, dark eyes reminded Martha of a young doe. The child waved, hope in her expression, and Martha felt that hope reach across the stony ground separating them.
Martha released her mantle to wave back.
“She waved at me, Papa,” the little girl whispered in a voice that wasn’t really a whisper.
Martha felt she should go. Although she was a widow, it would not be proper to converse alone with a single man, even if he was with his young daughter.
Rising to her feet, Martha once again grasped her mantle beneath her chin. Then she mouthed a silent prayer to Adonai—over her siblings, her niece and nephews, and especially Lazarus in his travels. She finished with prayers for endurance, continued health, and patience.
Before twilight could fully descend and darkness take over the land, Martha hurried down the hillside and through the lanes of Bethany until she reached her home. Well, Lazarus’s home now. When Yosef died, Martha had moved back to her parents’ home since she couldn’t very well claim any of Yosef’s inheritance without any sons. She’d occupied the third level of her parents’ home with Mary, while Lazarus’s family had resided on the second level. After her father’s death, Lazarus had moved his family down to the main level of the house, and Mary had taken over the second level.
His wife, Leah, was carrying their fourth child, to be born in the spring, so Martha and Mary spent more time in the cooking room than ever. At least Martha did. Mary had been busy working on a new mantle, and the embroidery was turning out beautifully.
Entering the courtyard of her home, Martha nearly tripped over a small goat. The creature bleated, and she patted its head. “How did you get out of your pen? And where’s your mama?” she asked, nudging the goat through the courtyard. “Come on.”
She guided the goat around the side of the house and to the rear courtyard, where the goat and chicken pens were. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of disarray. One of the pens was open, and the mother goat and three other kids were roaming the yard.
“Rhode! Nathaniel! Come help me!” she called, hoping her voice would carry into the house, then she remembered they were at the synagogue tonight.
“What is going on?” Leah’s voice cut through the bleating.
Martha turned to see her sister-in-law standing framed in the back entrance. Leah’s normally round, smiling face was creased in concern. “Oh goodness.”
Martha effectively corralled the mother goat into the pen, then she latched the gate shut. Next, she scooped up one of the kids, lifted it over the gate, and set it inside with its mother. The other two kids scattered, enjoying their new freedom.
“There’s one.” Leah pointed toward the corner of the house.
Martha took off after it. The little goat was fast, though, and sensed it was being chased. But Martha snagged the kid before it could escape to the front courtyard. When she arrived in the back courtyard again, Leah was smiling.
“I’m glad this amuses you,” Martha teased.
“I’m sorry.” Leah’s smile only widened. “I am impressed with how fast you move.”
Martha set the second kid over the gate, then turned, scanning the nearly dark yard.
“It went under the wagon.” Leah’s voice bordered on a laugh.
“Wonderful.” Martha huffed, then moved to the wagon and peered under it. It was too black to see anything. “Come here.” She snapped her fingers, but no goat appeared.
“All right then,” Martha mumbled. She knelt and crawled under the wagon. It was pushed against the wall of the stable, so there was no way it could escape the other side.
Two eyes watched Martha as she inched forward, scraping her hand in the process. She waited for the stinging to subside, then moved more. The little goat bleated as she edged closer.
“Come on,” Martha soothed, then grasped the goat by the scruff of its neck. It was a bit trickier to crawl back out with the animal, but soon she emerged, filthy but successful.
Leah had stepped into the yard, her hands set on her hips. “Nicely done, sister.”
They weren’t sisters by blood, but Leah called both Martha and Mary sister.
“Thank you,” Martha said. “Rhode and Nathaniel can be the ones to brush down my clothing when they return from the synagogue.”
“I agree,” Leah said, though her tone was affectionate. “Hang your outer clothing by the door, and I’ll have them do it before they eat.”
Leah was one of those women who never became frazzled with her children’s antics. Rhode was thirteen and Nathaniel eleven. Little Naomi was four. Perhaps because there were several years between Nathaniel and her next child, Leah enjoyed every stage of childhood to its fullness. And now, her fourth child should arrive in a few months.
With all the goats back in their pen, Martha followed Leah into the house. Martha slipped off her outer robe and hung it on a peg, then she washed in the basin kept near the door. “What can I help with?”
“I can finish the meal preparations,” Leah said. “You continue with whatever you’re working on for the banquet.”
“Are you sure?” Martha scanned the meal in progress.
“I am sure.” Leah moved to the fireplace, where she had a bubbling stew over the fire. On the wood table, she’d been preparing vegetables. Honey cakes already sat cooling on a length of cloth.
“All right. I’ll call down Mary, and she can help wherever is needed.” Martha headed up the narrow flight of stone stairs. Once Leah’s fourth child was born, Lazarus was thinking about moving the two boys to the second level, which meant that Mary would want to move upstairs with Martha. It would be fine. In less than a year, Mary would wed and move into her new home with her new in-laws.
“Mary?” Martha called as she climbed the stairs. Her right hand stung a little from scraping it on the ground when she’d crawled under the wagon.
No answer came from her sister, but that didn’t necessarily mean much. Her sister had been spending her time writing and reading when she wasn’t working on her embroidery. And often, Mary, an unusual girl who’d learned to read and write, would become caught up in whatever text she was deciphering and forget the hum of life around her.
Martha headed into the first bedchamber on the second floor. An oil lamp burned low, but there was no Mary. Her platform bed was unmade, as if it were early morning instead of evening. The bed was made up of a padded mat that sat atop a series of ropes, crisscrossed both side to side and end to end.
A wooden table was covered with scrolls of papyrus borrowed from Lazarus.
Then Martha caught sight of the movement of a blowing curtain against a single window in the room. Her breath caught when she saw a length of cloth tied to a hook at the base of the window. What was Mary up to now?
Martha crossed to the window and looked at the courtyard below. The cloth extended about halfway down the outside of the house. Right away, Martha knew her sister had escaped the house through her bedchamber window. Where was her sister, and why had she left?
Chapter Two
Lazarus
Galilee was beautiful in winter despite the dormant flowers, dull-colored grasses, and crisp morning air. Lazarus decided he loved all faces of the land—when she was at her most glorious or when she was at her most subdued. This morning would be his last day at the market before he made his way back home to Bethany, a three-day trek if there were no incidences or the Sabbath to interfere.
Lazarus missed his family, and he’d been worried about leaving his wife, Leah, when she was so close to delivery. But the winter trading in Galilee was the most profitable because olive oil reserves began to run low in most households.
The sounds of animals, mostly donkeys and cattle making it known that they were ready for sustenance, pulled Lazarus from his mat upon the hard floor of the small inn he’d paid to stay in. He never traveled extravagantly, even though he had the means to do so. With a budding household of soon-to-be four children, plus both of his sisters dependent upon him, Lazarus didn’t like to spend money on unnecessary luxuries when the money could be put to better use.
Lazarus stretched his back. It ached as usual, a side effect of traveling from home. In another year, Lazarus would include Rhode in some of his trading journeys, but for now, the boy was better off focusing on his learning. So Lazarus traveled alone. It hadn’t always been that way.
Martha’s husband, Yosef, had been his traveling partner, even before the marriage. Although they were technically in competition with each other, Yosef had always been fair-minded. Selling olives and olive oils to the northern towns and villages brought in a healthy profit, and there was room for two olive growers from Bethany.
“You stubborn beast.” A deep voice cut into the morning stillness.
The sound came from outside somewhere, and Lazarus peered out his tiny window. In the middle of the courtyard, which was dimly illuminated by approaching dawn, a young man was trying to shove his donkey into motion. But the effort was weak at best since the man’s left foot was severely deformed. He had to put most of his weight on his right foot, which gave him very little leverage against a full-grown donkey.
The donkey was intent on a patch of grass that had somehow survived all the trodding footsteps, and no wonder, for the animal’s ribs were prominent. The donkey looked next to starving.
“Move!” the man yelled.
Lazarus knew it was only a matter of time before the occupants of the surrounding inn would awaken, and none would be pleased.
“Can I help you?” Lazarus called down to the young man.
He raised his chin with a jerk, his dark eyes wide with surprise at the intrusion.
“I’ve dealt with an animal or two in my time,” Lazarus added.
The man’s expression of frustration didn’t dissipate. “I’ve nothing to pay you.”
“I don’t need payment,” Lazarus said. “I’ll be out in a moment.” He slipped on his outer robe, strapped on his sandals, then grabbed a couple of vegetables from the food basket in his bedchamber. Soon he hurried into the courtyard.
The young man was still there, and so was the donkey, who hadn’t budged at all.
“I’m Lazarus,” he said, nodding at the young man. He was younger than Lazarus had thought at first, and he guessed the lad to be in his early twenties.
“I’m Horeb,” the young man said. He wiped at the perspiration on his brow. Aside from the gauntness of his cheeks, he was a fine-looking fellow. The beginnings of a beard showed up as dark scruff on his jaw. It was plain he was barely above the status of a beggar and his donkey was not far off from starvation.
“Where are you headed to before the sun rises?” Lazarus asked.
“I seek the man they call Jesus,” Horeb said. “Jesus of Nazareth. They say he is in Galilee right now, and I intend to find him.”
Lazarus frowned. During his temple trips to Jerusalem, he’d heard of Jesus, but never in favorable terms. What were Horeb’s intentions? “It’s quite early. Do you plan to wake Jesus out of slumber by knocking on his door?”
