Authors: Diana Wallis Taylor
Martha
© 2011 by Diana Wallis Taylor
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
E-book edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâfor example, electronic, photocopy, recordingâwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-3273-1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Scripture used in this book, whether quoted or paraphrased by the characters, is taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
To those women who, because of our feminine gift of multitasking,
have become “Marthas.”
May they each find, as her sister Mary did,
that “good place that shall not be taken away,”
at the feet of the Savior.
Contents
 1 
Martha watched her father walk slowly up the road as the afternoon shadows appeared, and he was smiling. Ephraim looked tired but pleased. At his raised hand of greeting she hurried to meet him. Bursting with curiosity, she nearly danced beside him as they returned to the house. A dozen questions whirled in her head, but she held them in, knowing her father would tell her in his own time.
He looked past her. “And where is Mary?”
Martha swallowed her impatience. “She helped me in the garden this morning. I asked her to wash the vegetables.” She hoped the task was done, for Mary, at ten, was a dreamer and easily distracted.
Ephraim put a hand on her shoulder. “You are teaching her well, daughter.”
She beamed at his praise, but her question tumbled out in spite of her good intentions. “You have news, Abba?”
He smiled and nodded, his eyes twinkling. “My offer is being considered and they will let me know soon. I believe I presented you in a most favorable light. Phineas is a worthy young man and an only son. He is strong and helps his father in the fields. Gera and his wife, Rhumah, are good people. You would have a pleasant home.”
Martha could hardly contain her excitement. She was fifteen and her father had gone to arrange a marriage for her. She could soon be betrothed. Reaching up, she put a hand on her father's cheek. “Thank you, Abba. When will we know?”
Her dark eyes sparkled as she looked up at her father. She was taller than most of the other girls in Bethany, nearly reaching her father's shoulder. She'd bound up the auburn hair that flowed in gentle cascades down her back, under her shawl. While she turned a few heads when she walked through the village, her father told her many times, “Beauty does not run the home, daughter, only skillful hands.” Her hands were indeed skillful, for she had learned to help her mother in the household duties when she was even younger than Mary.
Her father tipped her chin up with his finger. “Gera told me we will talk after the Sabbath.”
Martha sighed. She would just have to wait.
It had been two years since her mother died. She did her best to care for their home. Her father and her twelve-year-old brother Lazarus helped as they could, but the burden fell on Martha. Her father hadn't remarried. She worried about the pains in his stomach that troubled him from time to time.
“I fear I'm a poor risk for a husbandâa man given to weak spells, with three children,” he told her upon more than one occasion.
Martha knew of two women in Bethany who had indicated they might be interested, but Ephraim would not commit himself. Perhaps now, if she were to be betrothed, her father would consider taking a wife to be a mother to Mary and Lazarus. Yet, even as she thought of this, she felt a twinge of guilt. When her mother's mantle as the woman of the household had fallen on her shoulders that dark day, she had promised to take care of her brother and sister. It seemed so urgent at the time. If she married and left, would she be breaking her promise?
Her father went to have Nathan the blacksmith sharpen his sickle for the coming wheat harvest while Martha checked the oil lamps to be sure they were filled. Earlier in the day she had done the washing and now gathered the dried clothing to bring it inside.
Their house was made of brick strengthened with straw and plastered over with lime and clay. Ephraim was a brick-maker and was teaching Lazarus how to make sturdy bricks of clay and straw, which they sold to others in the village. He also repaired roofs and walls for those who could not do it themselves. The house was cool in the summer and warm during the cold rains of the winter months. The roof of reeds and sticks coated with thick clay kept out the rain but needed to be maintained constantly.
One large room in the house served as the living, dining, and sleeping room with the family's pallets rolled up and stored in a corner. The weather was still pleasant, so Martha had Mary set the table in the courtyard. Looking at the leaves of the trees that were beginning to turn, she knew they would soon have to move the cooking brazier inside. She frowned. That would be necessary, but she didn't like the way the smoke filled their small house. While the weather was good, they ate at the table in the courtyard. When the weather turned cold, Martha brought their small brazier inside for cooking, and they ate there. While Martha, Lazarus, and Mary slept in the main room, there was a smaller room that had been added to the house when her father brought Martha's mother, Jerusha, there as a bride. Since her mother died, her father slept there alone.
Martha prepared the vegetables and baked a chicken with onions and garlic for their Sabbath dinner. A lentil stew simmered in a pot over the fire. She added some rue. Fat, purple figs, the first of the season, were piled in a basket on the table, and slices of fresh cucumber shimmered in a bowl. They must eat early, for no work could be done when the Sabbath began at sunset.
A soft breeze passed through the courtyard, swirling the leaves, but there was no moisture in it, and she knew the season of
hamsin
, the dry winds, was beginning. It was the month of Sivan, and after the Sabbath the wheat harvest would begin. The men of the village would help Ephraim with his harvest and he in turn would help others. Martha and Lazarus would be put to work in the fields bundling up the sheaves of grain. Adah, a woman too old to help in the fields, had asked for Mary to help her watch two or three small children who were too young to help with the harvest.
Lazarus came into the courtyard with a bundle of twigs for the fire. He was a sturdy boy, already showing evidence that he would be tall like his father. How proud she was of the man he was becoming. And he did his chores without complaint or prodding, like milking the goats early each morning and feeding the donkey.
He put down the bundle and lay a few twigs on the flames.
“Mary, could you ladle the milk for supper?” Martha asked as she pulled several cups from the cupboard and set them near the crock that stood in the coolest corner of the house. They had fresh milk daily, thanks to Lazarus's early-morning routine of milking the goats.
Martha turned back to the small cupboard to get some bowls, but Mary stood motionless, holding an unwashed cucumber. She was looking up at a flock of sparrows.
Martha sighed heavily. “Mary, finish the vegetables. We must store them quickly. The Sabbath approaches. I have other things to do, I can't do those too.”
Mary was instantly repentant, her face downcast at Martha's sharp tone of voice.
As her younger sister diligently resumed her task, Martha regretted her words. She had been too cross with Mary lately. She wondered if she could even remember when she had time to daydream herself. She had taken her mother's place at such a young age. Did her responsibilities ever end? She got a basket from the storeroom and began to help Mary place the vegetables in it. Mary gave her a shy smile of forgiveness. How many times her younger sister's gentle disposition offset her own impulsive one.
With sunset approaching, the family gathered as Martha lit the Sabbath candles, closed her eyes, and passed her hands over the bright flames. Then she covered her eyes with her hands and murmured the prayer that had been passed down to her people through the ages, “Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who has made us holy through his commandments and commanded us to kindle the Sabbath lights.”
Then, as the sun sank behind the Judean hills and the evening stars began to appear, the three muted blasts of the shofar, the ram's horn, sounded from the Temple Mount a mile and a half away, marking the beginning of the Sabbath and calling the faithful to prayer.
Martha had put out the fire under the stove before the shofar sounded. Now she placed their still warm supper on the low table and basked in Ephraim's nod of approval.
He poured the wine into the Kiddush cup and held it up.
As Martha listened to her father intoning the familiar prayers, she wondered what it would be like to listen to Phineas say the prayers in their household. Then she chided herself for foolish daydreams. It would not be Phineas, it would be his father, since they would live with her husband's family. A small shadow passed over her thoughts. She would be only a helper to her new mother-in-law, not in charge of the household. Perhaps it would just be like helping her mother again. She looked out over the courtyard. Who would take her place here?
Her thoughts were brought quickly back to the present as she took the Kiddush cup Lazarus was passing to her. She took a sip and handed it to Mary, who received it with reverence.
Ephraim broke the traditional
challah
bread into chunks to dip into the sauce. As they ate, Ephraim quizzed Lazarus on what he had learned from the rabbi that week and Martha listened respectfully to his recitations.
Watching her young sister nibble daintily at her piece of chicken, Martha thought there would be no difficulty finding her sister a husband one day. She was a pretty child. Her eyes, like her brother's, were from her father's side of the family, wide and dark in a smooth olive complexion.
When their Sabbath meal was over, they bowed their heads and Ephraim spoke the final prayer.
With the ceremonies of Friday evening over, Mary and Lazarus settled down on their pallets and were asleep in moments. Martha looked outside and saw that her father was sitting quietly in the courtyard, contemplating the night sky. While she left him alone with his thoughts, she also looked up into the night sky.
“Oh, God Who Sees me, may there be good news tomorrow.” Then she sighed. It was for God to determine her way. Instantly repentant, she prayed instead for the will of God in her life and went to her pallet.
The next morning upon awakening, Martha spoke the blessing and rose to prepare for their trip into Jerusalem to the Temple Mount for Sabbath prayers. It was a short walk, within the two-mile limit for a Sabbath journey. Ephraim in earlier years carried Mary on his shoulders, but now she walked beside him.
As they approached from the east and rounded a turn in the road, the city, hidden by the ridge of Olivet, burst into view. Martha never tired of the first glimpse of Jerusalem. The Temple was still hidden until they crossed Ophel, the suburb of the priests, then finally the panorama of the whole city stretched before them. Dark valleys and hills, the walls, towers, palaces, and streets of the city surrounded the Temple. As the sunlight caught its walls, the Temple stood like a mighty fortress, dwarfing the surrounding buildings. The sight never ceased to delight her. A rush of joy filled her heart as she gazed at the familiar scene.
They began their ascent into the city, and Martha noticed the increased number of Roman soldiers stationed along the road and near the steps leading up to the Temple. She remembered hearing her father and one of their neighbors furtively comment on the heavy taxes they were required to pay to the Roman government.
Ephraim had shaken his head solemnly. “The amount increases each year. We have no say. It is a burden that leaves us little to live on.”