sacrifice his son, and Abraham was ready to obey? The Lord never asked Sarah how she might feel about that, did He?”
“N-no,” I replied. “He didn’t.”
Leah sighed. “That’s how things have always been and always will be.”
They were almost the exact words Lord Benjamin had spoken.
“I’d rather be dead than married to Aaron bar David. He’s old and ugly and disgusting.” I shuddered at the thought of him touching me.
“Don’t say that you’d rather be dead!” she rebuked sharply.
I’d never heard her sound so angry.
“Only a coward would say something like that, and you’re not a coward, Mary. That I know for certain. You’re not a coward.”
She thought more highly of me than I did of myself. I said, “I can’t live without Daniel, Aunt Leah. I can’t. And I can’t marry this awful man. I’ll run away! I will!”
“Don’t speak like a fool,” she snapped. “You have no place to run. You will marry this man and go to Sepphoris with him, and you will make the best of it. That’s what we women do: we make the best of it.”
I sat there on my straw mat, with my robe and tunic pooled around me and Leah’s hands hard on my shoulders, thinking frantically. I’d already tried to go home to my father, and he had rejected me. I could run away, but, if I couldn’t run to Daniel . . . Aunt Leah was right. I had nowhere else to run. I couldn’t destroy Daniel’s future. I wouldn’t.
I shut my eyes tightly.
Daniel
, I thought.
My dearest love
.
Slowly I opened my eyes. I wiped away my tears with my veil. My voice was so hard it didn’t sound like my own when I said, “All right, then. I will marry Aaron bar David.”
Chapter Nine
I have little memory of my wedding and the subsequent journey to my husband’s home in Sepphoris. I protected myself from the horror of the experience by locking away the thinking, feeling part of me. My body was present, but my true self was shut away deep inside where no one could find it.
This was how I survived in my new life. I lived in a huge house, with Greek columns, beautiful mosaic floors, rich furniture, and I hated it. I hated every minute I spent there. I hated my old husband, who kept trying to make a child with me. I hated the gossamer silk tunics I wore in imitation of the Roman ladies. I hated the synagogue and the ladies who each tried to outdo the others with her jewels and her husband’s social status.
I had enough sense not to tell my husband how I felt. I’d learned a hard lesson about men: never give them any more power over you than they already possessed. Aaron liked to dress me up and show me off to all his friends, and I went along with it like a child’s doll that does the will of its owner. I raised unseen walls around me and let nothing or no one come in.
Aunt Leah had offered to come to Sepphoris with me, but I hadrefused. I knew she’d be miserable in a place that didn’t follow the strict rules of Jewish law, and from what I had heard, Sepphoris was more Roman than Jewish. So I was alone. I spent all my free time in the garden, which really was quite lovely. And I thought about Daniel.
I was waiting for him to rescue me. On the horrible nights when Aaron came to my bed, I tried hard to see Daniel’s face and not the old and ugly face of my husband. How I wished they were Daniel’s arms around me and Daniel’s lips touching my skin. I don’t think I could have borne it if it hadn’t been for this fantasy.
I had convinced myself that Daniel would never allow me to be married to someone else—that he would come to Sepphoris and take me away. I didn’t worry about where he would take me. Daniel could read and write. We’d find somewhere in this great Empire where he could be a scribe. He didn’t have to study at the Temple to write letters or keep books for other people. He could do that already.
It was a full year before Daniel arrived. He came on Shavuot, the day we were supposed to have become
“N-no,” I replied. “He didn’t.”
Leah sighed. “That’s how things have always been and always will be.”
They were almost the exact words Lord Benjamin had spoken.
“I’d rather be dead than married to Aaron bar David. He’s old and ugly and disgusting.” I shuddered at the thought of him touching me.
“Don’t say that you’d rather be dead!” she rebuked sharply.
I’d never heard her sound so angry.
“Only a coward would say something like that, and you’re not a coward, Mary. That I know for certain. You’re not a coward.”
She thought more highly of me than I did of myself. I said, “I can’t live without Daniel, Aunt Leah. I can’t. And I can’t marry this awful man. I’ll run away! I will!”
“Don’t speak like a fool,” she snapped. “You have no place to run. You will marry this man and go to Sepphoris with him, and you will make the best of it. That’s what we women do: we make the best of it.”
I sat there on my straw mat, with my robe and tunic pooled around me and Leah’s hands hard on my shoulders, thinking frantically. I’d already tried to go home to my father, and he had rejected me. I could run away, but, if I couldn’t run to Daniel . . . Aunt Leah was right. I had nowhere else to run. I couldn’t destroy Daniel’s future. I wouldn’t.
I shut my eyes tightly.
Daniel
, I thought.
My dearest love
.
Slowly I opened my eyes. I wiped away my tears with my veil. My voice was so hard it didn’t sound like my own when I said, “All right, then. I will marry Aaron bar David.”
Chapter Nine
I have little memory of my wedding and the subsequent journey to my husband’s home in Sepphoris. I protected myself from the horror of the experience by locking away the thinking, feeling part of me. My body was present, but my true self was shut away deep inside where no one could find it.
This was how I survived in my new life. I lived in a huge house, with Greek columns, beautiful mosaic floors, rich furniture, and I hated it. I hated every minute I spent there. I hated my old husband, who kept trying to make a child with me. I hated the gossamer silk tunics I wore in imitation of the Roman ladies. I hated the synagogue and the ladies who each tried to outdo the others with her jewels and her husband’s social status.
I had enough sense not to tell my husband how I felt. I’d learned a hard lesson about men: never give them any more power over you than they already possessed. Aaron liked to dress me up and show me off to all his friends, and I went along with it like a child’s doll that does the will of its owner. I raised unseen walls around me and let nothing or no one come in.
Aunt Leah had offered to come to Sepphoris with me, but I hadrefused. I knew she’d be miserable in a place that didn’t follow the strict rules of Jewish law, and from what I had heard, Sepphoris was more Roman than Jewish. So I was alone. I spent all my free time in the garden, which really was quite lovely. And I thought about Daniel.
I was waiting for him to rescue me. On the horrible nights when Aaron came to my bed, I tried hard to see Daniel’s face and not the old and ugly face of my husband. How I wished they were Daniel’s arms around me and Daniel’s lips touching my skin. I don’t think I could have borne it if it hadn’t been for this fantasy.
I had convinced myself that Daniel would never allow me to be married to someone else—that he would come to Sepphoris and take me away. I didn’t worry about where he would take me. Daniel could read and write. We’d find somewhere in this great Empire where he could be a scribe. He didn’t have to study at the Temple to write letters or keep books for other people. He could do that already.
It was a full year before Daniel arrived. He came on Shavuot, the day we were supposed to have become
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