MARY

Maiden, Mother, Matriarch

by
Ana Brigida Gomez

CHAPTER 1—THE DREAM

THE LAND OF MORIAH, CIRCA 2000 BC

An endless blue sky spread over the horizon. Not a single cloud spotted the vast ocean of cerulean blue. The unforgiving sun pounded the dry land, baking the rocks and dry bushes scattered over the cracked hard sand.

The screech of metal scraping stone filled the otherwise silent morning.

A pair of weathered hands, darkened by the sun, sharpened a rustic knife with a rock. A drop fell onto the blade, then two, then three. A mournful sob revealed that these were not the beginnings of much-needed rain, but Abraham’s tears.

His white woolen hair cloaked his bearded face. Abraham wiped his tears, but they kept falling in a river of pain that no dam could contain.

“My son . . . my only son,” he sobbed quietly as he tried to make sense of the sacrifice he was about to make. He couldn’t understand why God would take away his miracle child, but he had to obey, trusting His will. Abraham blinked against his tears, and his chest grew heavy as he sharpened the knife. A small shadow loomed over Abraham’s weapon, and, out of the silence, a quavering voice floated up to his ears.

“Father?”

Abraham raised his gaze toward the source of the voice. His son, Isaac—a curly-haired boy, the very face of innocence—held an armful of dry branches. “Where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” the boy asked.

Abraham took a few slow breaths before raising his knife. Startled, the boy dropped the branches and backed away.

NAZARETH, YEAR 1

Mary woke up with a loud gasp and sat up. The ghost of Isaac’s horrified face—the last image of her dream—lingered heavy on her heart. She dug her fingers into her mat as she looked out the window. The first rays of the sun hit her beautiful face.

“Bethany,” Mary whispered.

She quickly brushed her hand across her forehead to wipe away the sweat, wincing. It was unusual to dream about the Patriarch. This was a sign. She had to tell her friend Bethany and ask her what it meant. Mary quickly stood up from the mat and slid a tunic over her thin nightgown. She tied a ribbon around her tiny waist, hastily combed her hair with her fingers, then donned a headscarf to cover it up. She rolled her mat, tucking it into its corner.

Mary’s room was just the main room and kitchen of the house that she shared with her parents, Anne and Joachim. The couple had the only other room in the house for themselves. Two rooms were a small indulgence in this little town. Most people only had one room to share the same space to sleep, eat, and cook. Her footsteps padded across the hardened mud floor as she hurried toward the kitchen to gather some leftover bread for a quick breakfast. Her mother emerged from her bedroom to see what the commotion was about. Turning around, Mary almost ran into her.

“Mother! Good morning,” she said, while reaching for her sandals.

“Why the rush?” Anne asked. There was plenty of time to get to the market and still get the best picks. No need for Mary to run around like this. Mary’s hands trembled as she tied a pouch of coins around her waist and picked up a basket.

“After I go to the market,” she said, “I’m visiting Bethany.” The echo of their last conversation, months ago, still lingered in Mary’s mind.

“Bethany? But I thought—,” Anne started, but before she could finish, Mary kissed her forehead and rushed toward the door. Mary was about to open it when Anne placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her to a stop. Anne had to make sure. “Daughter, has she finally sent for you?” Anne asked, remembering their last conversation about Mary’s best friend.

Mary sighed. “Well,” she said, swallowing hard against her tightening chest as she recalled what Bethany had told her a few months ago.

In those days, Mary would visit Bethany’s house at least once a week. Her friend had the best home in all of Nazareth. Bethany liked beautiful things, and she chose the right man to give them to her: a merchant named Jephthah. He had been away for months earning the luxuries she craved. Jephthah didn’t mind the work. He was proud that, of all of Bethany’s suitors, he had been the chosen one. Jephthah was in love with her beauty as much as Bethany was in love with his resources: the perfect couple.

Bethany was the first person Mary told about her engagement to Joseph.

“The carpenter?” Bethany had said, reaching for a pomegranate seed in a wooden bowl on her table. Mary nodded. Bethany leaned heavily into her chair. “When I heard you were leaving your temple service to marry,” Bethany said, popping the seed into her mouth, “I thought some prince from a faraway land had swept you off your feet.” Bethany shook her head. “But the carpenter?”

“I don’t need a prince, Bethany. All I want is a good man, a pious man. A man who understands me,” Mary said, before pulling a rose from beneath her waistband as if it were a delicate treasure. She showed it to Bethany, smiling.

“A Damascus rose?” Bethany sighed. “Is that all it took?”

Mary gazed at the rose warmly. “It must have cost him three months of his salary . . . just because he asked me what my favorite flower was. No man has ever asked me what I wanted before, let alone get it for me.” She breathed in the rose’s perfume.

Bethany twisted her mouth. “A single rose for marrying a widower with six children who needs months of work to afford to build a house for you and—”

Mary cut her off. “A hard-working man with children I already love. He also promised—”

Bethany raised her hand. “I’m sorry, Mary, I’m sorry. You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” she said as she ate the last pomegranate seed. Bethany cleaned the fruit’s red tint off her fingers with a handkerchief. The stains on the cloth looked like fresh blood. “Even if I think you are making a mistake. If he is good enough for you . . .”Bethany shrugged, unconvincingly.

Mary lifted her brows.

Bethany bit her lip, mortified. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude, but, it’s just . . .” Bethany furrowed her brows, unsure. “There is no easy way to end a marriage for our people. And sometimes being a good man is not enough to make a woman happy.”

Mary frowned, picking up on the warning in her friend’s words. “Bethany? Are you unhappy?” she asked.

Bethany bit her lip, collecting her thoughts for a moment before responding. “I don’t know. I have everything I asked for and more, yet . . .” She looked around her luxurious house, the lavish curtains of rich colors, the vases overflowing with fresh flowers, the tables filled with fruits and seeds, and the bread that she didn’t have to bake herself. She brushed the silk of her gown, the finest in all of Nazareth, and sighed, unable to finish the sentence.

Mary couldn’t help but feel the weight of Bethany’s emptiness. “You know you can trust me, Bethany,” Mary said.

Bethany opened her mouth but ultimately changed her mind about what she was going to say and closed it without revealing what secret was weighing on her.

Mary respected her silence but still wanted to help somehow. “Maybe we can celebrate when your husband returns? A big party should cheer you up,” Mary suggested with a warm smile.

Bethany’s mood changed suddenly, she held her breath for a moment. “No, no,” Bethany said, shaking her head.

Mary frowned, confused. It was the first time in her life that Bethany hadn’t jumped at the suggestion of a party. Something was wrong.

Bethany realized that she overreacted, saying, “I mean, I want to be alone with Jephthah first. Maybe later there will be a reason for celebration.”

Mary nodded. This seemed like the normal desire of a wife that hadn’t seen her beloved in months. “Mary, I need to ask you something. Don’t come back here until I send for you. Please,” she begged.

Mary frowned, confused. Her friend was always happy to see her. What changed? Nevertheless, she nodded again and put her own hand atop Bethany’s before saying goodbye. Mary didn’t know at the time, but that would be the last time she would speak to her friend for months.

“Mary?” Anne said, breaking Mary out of her memory. “If Bethany has not sent for you, maybe—” Before her mother could finish, Mary blurted out her reason.

“I had a dream about Father Abraham. She would want to hear it.”

“Oh,” Anne said.

When they had served in the temple together, Bethany interpreted the dreams of the other girls, and her predictions were always accurate. Bethany clearly had a gift. Mary could use her words of wisdom now after such a strange dream.

“Daughter,” Anne said, “Bethany might have been trying to protect you all this time.”

“What do you mean?” Mary said, surprised.

“Bethany doesn’t leave the house anymore. She dismissed all her servants and instead pays some children through a window to provide her with food and water when she needs it. The people in town say—” Anne stopped herself, she didn’t want to scare her daughter more than she needed to. Mary grabbed her mother’s hand to urge her to finish. “The people say she might be possessed by a demon.”

Mary gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought it was just gossip, and that Bethany would go back to acting normal soon. But that has not happened yet.” Anne shrugged.

“In that case then, I have one more reason to see her today. The dream might be a sign that she needs me.”

Anne knew Mary wouldn’t abandon a friend in a time of need, and even though it worried her, Anne would at least let her daughter go with a blessing. She sighed, saying, “May God protect you, Mary.” Anne gave Mary a quick hug then opened the door for her.

Mary hurried out into the town to find out what was happening to her friend.

CHAPTER 2—THE SECRET

Nazareth’s small market was rows and rows of dusty carpets and simple tables shaded by thick linen sheets on wooden posts. The vendors sold dishes, chickens, fruits, oil, fish, pottery and doves. Mary, not wanting to neglect her duties toward her parents, loaded her basket in haste, eager to reach Bethany as soon as she could. She handed over a few copper coins to the seller.

“You’re in a hurry today,” Matthias said, confused, taking the payment.

Mary shrugged while waiting for her change. Then she felt a tug on her skirt. Startled, she spun around. A child, darker than the tent shadows that surrounded the place, held onto her dress.

Mary instantly warmed at the sight of the child and she lowered herself down to his line of sight.

“Shalom,” Mary said. The child didn’t respond. He just stared back at her.

“I’ve never seen you before,” Mary said. She glanced around, confused. No one in the crowd looked like him. “Where are your parents?”

The child’s dark eyes seemed to hold an answer that he couldn’t speak. Maybe he had wandered away from his family? Mary was anxious about Bethany, but this child seemed lost and unable to talk. She could spare a few minutes for him. Travelers sometimes stopped in town for food and water. Maybe they were searching for their child.

“Are you hungry, Son?” Mary said. She looked at her basket and found a couple of dates to give him to eat, but when Mary stood up, the boy had disappeared. Mary, confused, tried to see where he went, but she couldn’t find him. It was like he had never been there.

“Something wrong, Mary?” Matthias inquired.

“I thought I saw—I’m fine, thank you, Matthias.” Mary shook her head. The child was probably back with his parents. Bethany needed her attention more than this child needed her help.

Mary started hurrying toward Bethany’s house again when screams and confusion erupted above the normal bustle. The people left their shopping to run toward the noise. As the multitude grew, Mary’s heartbeat quickened. She tried to see beyond, but the crowd was obscuring her view. She heard a clear scream from the center of the uproar.

“Whore!” Jephthah shouted. She recognized Bethany’s husband’s voice and both Mary’s heart and basket dropped to her feet. She ran as fast as she could, moving the people out of her way with all the strength she could muster.

Mary finally pushed close enough to see through the crowd of Nazarenes to see Jephthah dragging her friend Bethany by the hair, through the dirt, to the center of the street. Bethany was wearing her distinctive blue dress, now ripped to shreds and covered in dust.

The man threw Bethany into the middle of the circle of rabid people clamoring for her blood. Bethany had bruises all over her body. She struggled to sit up, but she wasn’t attempting to run. Bethany had witnessed enough stonings to know that escape was impossible. Running just made things worse. She decided she would rather die with as most dignity she could manage. It was the last thing she would ever do.

One local man threw a sharp rock toward Bethany. She instinctively covered her face. A stone hit her arm, cutting her wrist in the shape of a V. Bethany bit her lip, suppressing a scream. She didn’t want to feed the mob.

Mary finally pushed through to the last ring of angry people to join Bethany on the ground. She dropped to her knees next to Bethany, holding her injured limb. Bethany’s blood stained Mary’s delicate fingers.

Mary met Bethany’s gaze. Her friend’s lips trembled, but no words came out. Mary’s eyes reassured her. She didn’t have to say anything. She would protect her.

Quickly, Mary removed her headscarf. Her dark locks fell disarranged over her shoulders. Mary used the cloth to wrap the wound. Shocked, she looked at the horde. Her neighbors, the people she spoke to every day, were unrecognizably cruel, hungry for punishment.

“Move, Mary, move! She is an adulterer!” Jephthah screamed. His face contorted into the likeness of a demon as he spat on the ground. “You know the law better than anyone,” he shouted, raising his right hand holding a rock. He was about to strike, but Mary would not budge. They would have to kill her too. She remembered her training in the temple and came up with way a to save her friend.

“Witnesses?” Mary asked, hoping there were none.

Jephthah’s face puffed up, his brows lifting in disbelief. “I don’t need witnesses. Look at her. Look at her!” he gestured with his hand, huffing. “I spent eleven months at sea. ELEVEN! Working like a damn donkey to buy her the nice things she always demanded.” Jephthah’s voice broke. “Look at her!”

Mary looked at Bethany. She finally understood what he meant, and her eyes filled with tears. Bethany’s belly had grown. With her dress in shreds, you could see the clear sign of a new life growing in her, a life that couldn’t possibly be her husband’s. Bethany lowered her head, shame crushed her. She couldn’t deny it.

Mary shook her head, puzzling about what could have happened to her friend. Maybe some Roman soldier had forced Bethany into sin. She wouldn’t be the first. Maybe she was too ashamed to tell anyone, or Jephthah didn’t believe her. Whatever happened, she still had to try. The law of Moses was specific about how to impart justice in these kinds of circumstances.

“You are right,” Mary said, swallowing hard, Jephthah nodded in vindication until he heard her next words. “I know the law, and the law of Moses is clear. Without witnesses, you have no right to stone her. No one does.”

Jephthah hesitated for a second, but the crowd’s shouting fueled his anger and pride even more. Before he could open his mouth again, two burly men stepped out of the crowd and grabbed hold of Mary’s arms, pulling her away. Bethany didn’t try to hold on to her friend. Mary screamed, tugging at their arms, kicking her feet against the ground. She tried to stand her ground, digging her heels into the dirt. One of her sandals came off, undone, left behind on the lines marked by her feet. “No! No! Let me go! Bethany!” Mary cried, her heart trembling with dread.

Shaking, Bethany wrapped her ripped skirt around her legs to preserve her modesty.

Mary pulled against the men, trying to remove her arms from their hold, but they were too strong. Their fingers pressed down, leaving purple marks on her arms.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Mary,” one of the burly men warned.

“It will be over soon,” the other one assured her.

“No! No,” Mary’s tears flowed like a river as she held her friend’s gaze. Bethany stared back and mouthed a silent goodbye to Mary before lowering her head and covering it with her hands. Bethany considered praying for a quick death, but her fear of the wrathful judgment of God held her back. She deserved His justice and soon she would receive it. Instead of a prayer, Bethany peered from between her fingers to see Mary. She focused on the face of her friend, her only true friend, remembering the happy moments they had shared.

Jephthah searched for the biggest stone he could lift. He dropped the one in his hand and finally found a boulder the size of a melon.

Mary, desperate, turned to face the women in the mob, who were as rabid as the men. They could pull her body away, but her mouth was still free. Mary yelled at the top of her lungs, “Daughters of Zion!”

The women jerked to a stop, turning their heads toward Mary. They had never heard her yell like this. With such authority, it was impossible to ignore.

“Do you really want to stone a woman based only on her husband’s word?” Mary challenged. The women remained completely still as they looked at each other.

“You could be next,” Mary warned as she looked at the men accusingly. “Your daughters could be next. Your mothers could be next.” Mary’s words weighed on their souls like the stones they held in their hands. They looked at their elderly mothers, their little daughters, and their sisters. Suddenly, they saw themselves in Bethany’s place, and fear filled their hearts.

One by one, the women dropped their rocks, then they pleaded with the men to not risk the chance of staining Nazareth’s soil with innocent blood. Eventually, the men yielded to their wives’ pleas. The two burly men holding Mary, pushed by their wives, let her go. Mary didn’t hesitate, rushing back to Bethany and offering her body up as a shield against her husband.

Jephthah found himself alone, the last man standing, holding his boulder. He puffed, gripping it with his hands before raising it. He still had the right to kill the adulteress, even if no one else was going to help, but Mary put her body between him and Bethany.

“Please. Don’t. Please,” Mary said, begging for her friend’s life. Jephthah’s eyes bulged as he pressed his lips together, still holding the rock. Jephthah knew Mary well enough to know that she would not move. He would not mix innocent blood with the blood of the traitor, but he couldn’t bring himself to face the town in shame. Finally, grunting in frustration, he dropped his rock to the ground.

“Very well. If you love her that much, you can keep the snake! But she takes nothing with her. Nothing!” He stormed over to Bethany, ripping the shimmering necklace off her neck.

Quickly, Mary and Bethany removed her earrings, her golden sandals, her silver girdle, and her rings to give to him. The dress was too ruined for him to take back, so he had the little mercy to not strip her naked in the middle of the street. Bethany surrendered one of her bracelets, but when Mary reached for the other one, Bethany shielded it with her trembling hand. “This was my mother’s.” Mary had forgotten for a moment that this had been her mother’s last gift.

“Right,” Mary said. She gave the last earring to Jephthah, who looked between them both. Bethany wouldn’t meet his eyes, fearing that he would remember his original plan. Mary’s whole body pulsed with fear that he wasn’t satisfied. She pleaded with him again.

“Please?”

Jephthah stormed away back into his home and slammed the door shut. Mary, relieved, sighed. whispering a thankful prayer to God.

Bethany looked around. The mob was gone. She realized she was safe. Mary had saved her. She finally could let herself feel, and what she felt was sorrow. Bethany wept bitterly, holding her head in her hands.

“Don’t be scared,” Mary told Bethany, holding her tightly. “You are safe now. I promise.” Mary helped Bethany up.

“Thank you,” Bethany croaked with her eyes still shedding thick tears. She winced as she stood up.

“Let’s go,” Mary said.

Bethany limped, so Mary put her arm around her shoulder to help her walk.

Both women approached the market that was back to caring about business, and the people there stared at both women as if they regretted their decision.

Mary ignored them all, picked up her basket, and gathered the fruit and vegetables she had dropped earlier. She couldn’t return home without food. Then both women walked away.

“Where are you taking me?” Bethany said a few steps in. She was leaning into Mary’s body, ignoring the stabbing pain.

“Home, of course.”

“No!” Bethany pulled Mary to a stop. “I don’t want your parents to see me like this.”

“My parents won’t care, you know that.”

“But I do,” Bethany said, holding back tears.

“Bethany,” Mary began, but she could see just how shaken her friend was. “If not home . . . where?” she asked.

Bethany took in a deep breath, then said, “You know where.”