Read Online Two from Galilee by Marjorie Holmes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marjorie Holmes
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taking care of you, you know how much I came to love you."
"There was another whom you loved before me. Your sisters told me. A woman named Abigail. Would it have been better had you married her instead?"
"You'll never know how thankful I am that I didn't."
"Then so it is with Mary. One day she'll thank us."
"Not if we give her to someone she hates and fears. Joseph loves her deeply, Hannah, and she's beside herself with love for him. He'll make her happy. She knows him so well, she'd never be afraid of him as you were afraid of me." Joachim's rough hand stroked the thin gray hair. He attempted to draw her spindly body closer, but she twisted away. "That was the hard part, Hannah, that you were so terrified of my love, when I only wanted to be united with you and to give you joy as well. Think, Hannah, think how much sooner we might have found happiness had it been with us as it is with them, had you loved me from the very start."
"How do you know?" Hannah demanded. "Joseph, yes—the way he's hung about her has sickened me for years. But Mary," she protested, "she's young, she's given little thought to marrying. And if she has, certainly she'd prefer to do better than this."
"You're wrong. She loves him so much she will have no other man."
"How do you know?" Hannah cried again.
"She told me."
Hannah jerked upright. "Told you? I'm her mother. Why hasn't she spoken of this to me?" She began to shake with dry wild sobbing. "Am I then so poor a mother that my own daughter confides such matters to her father's ears instead of mine?"
"Perhaps she felt it would hurt you too much, knowing the high ambitions you have for her."
"And I'm right! She could have any man in Nazareth."
"Examine your conscience, Hannah. Is it truly your daughter's happiness that drives you, or only your pride?"
Hannah didn't answer. She had flung herself back upon the pillow and given herself over to the sobbing that ripped through the curtains, beating upon Mary who had crept from her own bed, past her sleeping sisters, and now stood at the little window staring up at the clouds that quilted the sky.
"Hush, you'll wake the children," Joachim ordered. His voice was stern, to keep at bay the assault upon his senses that her tears always made. "Hush now, be still." He patted the heaving shoulders, bony and sharp under the thin shift. "One further thing you must consider. Have you thought how it would be should we give Mary to someone like Cleophas? Surely we are far more humble in the sight of Reb Levi than the family of Jacob is to us. Do you think that once Mary and Cleophas were wed we'd be welcome in their fine house? Or the homes of their kinsmen?"
"Mary would never consider herself too good for us."
"As the wife of Cleophas she would belong to his family, not ours. And she would obey him. I've thought about this a long time, Hannah, and even if it weren't for Joseph I wouldn't give our daughter to anyone as spoiled as Cleophas. We would lose her. And we would lose her just as much if we gave her to Abner."
He waited for some reply, but she was too far gone in her grief. His reasons could not penetrate this damp devastating curtain she had thrown up between them, he thought angrily. Nonetheless, he drove stubbornly on. "If Abner succeeds as predicted, he would go to Jerusalem and Mary with him. Except for the annual pilgrimages we would never see her."
Ah, but it was no use. No use trying to talk to her when she became like this. He rose from her side and crept downstairs and outside to the ladder to mount to the roof, where his big feet paced up and down, up and down.
Mary could hear their dull thudding overhead, jarring the ceiling, quivering through her own flesh. Their tremors joined force with the sound of her mother's weeping. And it was as if she were being rent asunder between them. "Jahveh forgive me for bringing such strife into this house," she whispered. She reached out and pulled back the dry tangle of vines, the better to
"There was another whom you loved before me. Your sisters told me. A woman named Abigail. Would it have been better had you married her instead?"
"You'll never know how thankful I am that I didn't."
"Then so it is with Mary. One day she'll thank us."
"Not if we give her to someone she hates and fears. Joseph loves her deeply, Hannah, and she's beside herself with love for him. He'll make her happy. She knows him so well, she'd never be afraid of him as you were afraid of me." Joachim's rough hand stroked the thin gray hair. He attempted to draw her spindly body closer, but she twisted away. "That was the hard part, Hannah, that you were so terrified of my love, when I only wanted to be united with you and to give you joy as well. Think, Hannah, think how much sooner we might have found happiness had it been with us as it is with them, had you loved me from the very start."
"How do you know?" Hannah demanded. "Joseph, yes—the way he's hung about her has sickened me for years. But Mary," she protested, "she's young, she's given little thought to marrying. And if she has, certainly she'd prefer to do better than this."
"You're wrong. She loves him so much she will have no other man."
"How do you know?" Hannah cried again.
"She told me."
Hannah jerked upright. "Told you? I'm her mother. Why hasn't she spoken of this to me?" She began to shake with dry wild sobbing. "Am I then so poor a mother that my own daughter confides such matters to her father's ears instead of mine?"
"Perhaps she felt it would hurt you too much, knowing the high ambitions you have for her."
"And I'm right! She could have any man in Nazareth."
"Examine your conscience, Hannah. Is it truly your daughter's happiness that drives you, or only your pride?"
Hannah didn't answer. She had flung herself back upon the pillow and given herself over to the sobbing that ripped through the curtains, beating upon Mary who had crept from her own bed, past her sleeping sisters, and now stood at the little window staring up at the clouds that quilted the sky.
"Hush, you'll wake the children," Joachim ordered. His voice was stern, to keep at bay the assault upon his senses that her tears always made. "Hush now, be still." He patted the heaving shoulders, bony and sharp under the thin shift. "One further thing you must consider. Have you thought how it would be should we give Mary to someone like Cleophas? Surely we are far more humble in the sight of Reb Levi than the family of Jacob is to us. Do you think that once Mary and Cleophas were wed we'd be welcome in their fine house? Or the homes of their kinsmen?"
"Mary would never consider herself too good for us."
"As the wife of Cleophas she would belong to his family, not ours. And she would obey him. I've thought about this a long time, Hannah, and even if it weren't for Joseph I wouldn't give our daughter to anyone as spoiled as Cleophas. We would lose her. And we would lose her just as much if we gave her to Abner."
He waited for some reply, but she was too far gone in her grief. His reasons could not penetrate this damp devastating curtain she had thrown up between them, he thought angrily. Nonetheless, he drove stubbornly on. "If Abner succeeds as predicted, he would go to Jerusalem and Mary with him. Except for the annual pilgrimages we would never see her."
Ah, but it was no use. No use trying to talk to her when she became like this. He rose from her side and crept downstairs and outside to the ladder to mount to the roof, where his big feet paced up and down, up and down.
Mary could hear their dull thudding overhead, jarring the ceiling, quivering through her own flesh. Their tremors joined force with the sound of her mother's weeping. And it was as if she were being rent asunder between them. "Jahveh forgive me for bringing such strife into this house," she whispered. She reached out and pulled back the dry tangle of vines, the better to
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