Two from Galilee by Marjorie Holmes Page B

sometimes corrected the strident Deborah, "can't you be more like her?" Or to the untidy Esther: "Mary would never leave the pots and pans in such a state." Even so, she had failed to generate any real dislike between them. Though they had their share of quarrels, she knew that they loved and admired their cousin and wished her happiness.
    Nor would Cora begrudge the child. Especially not today when she had been delivered of a vexing, unworthy but long tormenting burden—that Mary would surpass her daughters in marriage. Live in a greater house, have servants, travel, shop in the bazaars of exotic cities. She had not missed the final plaintive look on Hannah's face as Cleophas and his father swept from the synagogue. As for her, it was as if they carried with them her heavy accumulation of dread.
    Cora hastened to correct the impression she had made. She could afford to be generous. "It still seems a pity." She plunged the knife into her own breast. "The chances that girl had."
    "And beauty fades so fast," said Ruth, Joachim's small dark intense middle sister. "I shudder to think what a few years suckling the babes of a poor joiner may do to her."
    "Yes, I'm afraid they'll all live to regret it," Cora said. "For her own sake her parents should have been firm. Now Deborah had plenty of other chances too," she claimed. "Some that might have pleased her more than Aaron. But Deborah's obedient, she's been trained not to question what we deem best."
    There was a quick change of subject as Hannah came out. They didn't want to spoil this day for her, poor thing; they knew it was hard enough for her already. They had a grudging respect for her spunk, the way she always bounced back. Even now Hannah couldn't refrain. "Did you ever hear such a moving reading of the Word as Joseph's this morning? He should have studied for the priesthood. But he knows you can serve the Lord in other ways—by being a good husband, a good father. A good carpenter!" she declared, daring them to doubt. "You should see the table he's making for Mary—why, it would be a credit to the Temple."
    They agreed, with the loyalty that overrode their differences. How was it that Hannah always managed to be right? they wondered. Yet they wanted her to be right in this instance, if only because they were all of the selfsame family. Whatever befell one of them befell them all.
     
    Upstairs, Deborah was helping Mary unbind her hair. She yanked the pins from the dark coronet and impishly began to tumble it about. "Come, now," Mary protested, laughing. "Hand me the comb. It's a maid my loosened hair is supposed to symbolize, not a wanton."
    Deborah held the comb wickedly away. Her slant green eyes were dancing. "What a glorious joke that would be, to sit demurely on the bench with disheveled hair all day, knowing that you were no virgin as the visitors believed, but wild and wanton."
    "It would be dreadful I should think."
    "I thought of it at the time of my own hair's unwinding. I didn't feel demure and virginal at all, but wanton. I thought how it would be if I had lain with some of the boys I'd kissed, and almost wished I had!"
    Mary smiled at her cousin's self-dramatics. "But what about Aaron? Don't you love him?"
    "Plenty of time for Aaron when he leads me to the marriage bed." She attacked with the comb, so vigorously Mary winced. "As for love, you tell me what it's like. How does it feel when you look at Joseph, what is it like when you kiss?"
    "We don't kiss," Mary said softly. "Not yet."
    "You will. You'll find they're all alike, they can hardly wait. Even Aaron—this betrothal has been one long struggle. Don't you tell," she warned. "It's legal, of course, but still a disgrace. I wouldn't think of it. But then I'm not tempted." She shuddered. "His lips—they're like kissing a sausage."
    Mary gasped, shocked if amused. A sausage was heathen food. "Oh, Deborah, no, it shouldn't be like that! When Joseph looks at me it's like drowning sometimes, almost too