Land Of Silence Part 2

She narrowed her eyes and stared. Benjamin?

I shrugged. I think Master Ezer was concerned for the welfare of the trade should it remain dormant much longer. He might have suggested that Father use my help for now. While he . . . while he grieves. I felt my cheeks heat.

I see. And that, to my disbelief, was that.

Except that after we finished eating the evening meal I overheard her complaining to my father about the madness of allowing an unmarried young woman to get mixed in trade. What next? she said. Will you have your daughter running around Jerusalem, reeking of mordant and selling towels?

Of course not, Elizabeth. But I need help; cant you see that? I cannot cope with the workshop at the moment. She is eager enough for it. If it werent for her, none of this would have been necessary. Its only right that she make a little sacrifice now, for all our sakes.

My mother said nothing after that.

At my mothers command, the servants had removed Josephs bedding and chests from our room. Joanna had pulled her pallet closer to mine, and more nights than not, she would slip into my bed and hold me in her slim, cold arms. I returned her embrace with all my might. I held her with the strength of two affections, knowing I could never hold my brother like this again. I missed him every moment. I even missed what used to annoy me: his habit of waking up early and insisting that Joanna and I join him; his demands for attention when I wanted to concentrate on something else; his insistence on traipsing after me wherever I went. How I longed to have him back. His absence turned into a hole that never filled.

It was a relief to return to my fathers workshop and find a distraction from the pain that had become my shadow. In addition to the towel-grade flax, we also had to process a new delivery of linen fibers, this one fine enough for ladies tunics and veils. We would deal with this delivery later in the year. We stored the processed fibers in a cool, dry shed, where a large order of wool also awaited our attentions.

One afternoon, before the weavers began their work, the foreman approached me.

Mistress Elianna, do you want us to weave the towels plain, or have a stripe woven into them? In the past we have either woven a plain blue stripe on each edge and in the center, or we have added a Roman key design. What would you like this time around?

More and more, the servants turned to me seeking direction, for although in the evenings, just before the workers finished for the day, my father would come for a perfunctory inspection, we could tell his heart was not in it.

I will let you know in the morning. An idea had been a.s.serting itself in my mind all day, but I could not authorize a new plan without my fathers approval.

Even women of rank were allowed to embroider, and I had a special talent for it. Before dinnertime, I drew a design of leaves and flowers. After choosing three hues of yarn for the embroidery, I took my design to my father.

I thought we might try something new on the towels. What about a simple embroidery instead of the usual weave? I placed my design before him on the table.

He rolled his eyes without examining my drawing. Just do what we always do.

Yes, Father. Only . . . we are over two months late, you see.

He gave me a swift look before turning his back. So?

The Roman key weave is common enough, as is the stripe pattern. Every fine merchant in Jerusalem will have been offering stacks of similar towels, and they are months ahead of us this season. But if we have a unique offering, the delay wont matter so much. Customers will buy from us what they cant find elsewhere.

My father tapped his fingers on the wooden table. I noticed his nails had grown too long and were dirty. He picked up my drawing and looked at it for a moment. Do as you wish, he said, dropping it back on the table.

I had hoped the design would elicit a response from him. A hint of approval. Instead, he seemed uncaring one way or another. He had barely looked at my drawing and ignored the colors I had chosen. I crossed my arms at the elbows, my fingers digging into my flesh. Without his guidance, I felt lost. Grave doubt about my scheme a.s.sailed me. Who was I to decide that a new pattern was what we needed? What if I proved wrong? What if no one had any interest in towels with a floral motif? What if I caused an enormous financial loss?

I wrapped my design and the sample yarns in a piece of linen and took Keziah with me to visit Ethans family. Jerusha welcomed me with her customary kiss and asked after my family as she set out a gold-edged platter of fresh figs and grapes.

I came to ask your opinion. I opened the linen cloth and showed her my diagram. Would you buy towels with these flowers embroidered on them?

She bent over and studied the drawing with shrewd eyes. Its beautiful, Elianna. I would love to own towels so elegant. But you need Ethan and Ezer. They know what sells. They will be back soon. Can you stay for supper?

I nodded, relieved, and sent Keziah to my mother to let her know that I would not come home for the evening meal.

Ethan and Master Ezer arrived an hour later. My words got tangled at the sight of Ethan. After so many years of knowing him, he still had the power to make my breath catch with his mere presence. He was not overly tall, but he was wide and powerfully built, more like a charioteer than a merchant. Heads turned his way when he entered a room; he was hard to miss.

His mother explained my need, and after dinner Ethan looked at my flower motif.

This is lovely, Elianna.

Do you think so? I brightened at his compliment.

But it will take longer to complete than a simple weave. Longer hours mean more pay. Less profit, if you sell at the old price. And if you raise the price, you run the risk of not selling at all.

My heart sank. So you think I shouldnt do it? Stick to the old patterns instead?

He shrugged a broad shoulder. I didnt say that. Your concerns are valid. Your fathers business is behind by two months. Many have already made their purchases. A narrower margin of profit is better than none. How much longer will it take you to embroider the towels rather than weave a design into them?

I thought about it and realized that by making a few adjustments to the shape of the leaves, I could make the embroidering go faster without affecting the overall design too much. I estimated the time it would require to finish one towel and compared it to our normal woven patterns. There will be a difference of five, perhaps six hours for each towel.

It took Ethan less than a moment to figure the sums in his head. It would have taken me an hour, and I probably still would not have had it right. Perhaps because he had thought he would never have a son, my father had provided me with more education than common amongst women. That privilege had not enabled me to master the art of figures, however. I feared no amount of study ever would.

Ethan told me how much money we would lose. Your profit will be smaller. But, he said, I think it would be worth it. You might find new customers, establish a whole new trend. If you receive a greater number of orders than usual, you will make up the loss.

Do you believe that is possible? Having increased custom, I mean.

With the right seller, I believe it probable.

My shoulders drooped. Father would have no interest in establis.h.i.+ng new customers. He had no patience for people these days. He certainly would have no motivation to reach a different clientele. I dont think my father will be able to do it.

Ethan smiled, his eyes lighting up. We dont need to bother him with this. In all Jerusalem, you shall not find a better dealer than your servant. He bowed, Roman style. Leave it to me. Flower-adorned towels will be the new rage in Judea this season.

Ezer and Jerusha laughed, and I found to my surprise that I was laughing with them. I had not even smiled since Joseph died.

Ezer slapped Ethan on the back. I would tell him off for being boastful, except that I believe he tells the truth. My son could sell sackcloth to a Roman lady on her way to dine with the new emperor, Tiberius. If anyone can make a success of your scheme, it is he.

If was not a word I dared to contemplate.

FOUR.

Good people pa.s.s away; the G.o.dly often die before their time.

ISAIAH 57:1, NLT.

THAT NIGHT MY SISTER, Joanna, came into my bed and wrapped her long gazelle limbs around me. It was my birthday today and no one remembered, she whispered. Im fourteen years old.

I groaned and turned to embrace her. I am so sorry, beloved. I cant believe I forgot.

She sniffed. In the faint light of the lamp that we always left lit through the night I saw her rub her eyes. Jews did not celebrate birthdays with gifts and lavish feasts the way our Roman conquerors did. But those who could afford it at least acknowledged such a day and commemorated it with a special meal and a gathering of family and close friends.

I shoveled one more sin on the growing pile that weighed down my soul. Joanna had been forgotten in the shuffle of our grief. A grief I had brought upon our heads.

Like a thousand times before, I looked back on that dark afternoon and imagined ways I could have prevented Josephs death. If I had not taken him to the hill. If I had delayed by one hour. If I had wiped his face. If I had come to his aid sooner, killed the bee faster. If I had brought him home before it grew too late. It was a useless game I played in my head every day, trying to change the outcome of that dreadful incident.

The problem with death is its very irrevocability. Still, I could not help engaging in this painful exercise, thinking of ways to prevent Joseph from dying. I wondered if my parents did something similar. Were they held captive by their secret regrets as I was? If so, they kept their torment as hidden as I did mine. We all suffered. But we did not share the weight of our anguish with each other.

The next morning I rose before Joanna to tell my mother about the birthday we had forgotten. Promptly, she burst into tears. Her weeping no longer tied my stomach into a knot. It had become too common a sight and I had grown accustomed to it, the way one grows used to the searing heat of the sun in the summer.

Shall I arrange a special meal for this evening? I asked gently.

Mother wiped at her eyes and nodded. My head is in agony. You organize everything. And see if Ezer and his family can come. Joanna would enjoy that.

After arranging the details of the supper, I returned to the workshop and told the servants to begin the work of weaving plain towels. I found it a relief to hear the hum of their swift shuttles filling the chamber. Before long, we would have lengths of linen fit for towels and napkins in Herods own palace.

I spent an hour with the foreman, coordinating the upcoming embroidery work, since my plan presented as much a new venture for him as it did for me. My mother, Joanna, and I would join in this effort; even my strict mother had no objections to the work of embroidering. We could bring the towels inside the house and work on them in the privacy of our chamber, which offered a respectable alternative to visiting the workshop.

Over dinner that night I noticed Ethan staring at me with peculiar intensity. What? I whispered under my breath so only he could hear. Master Ezer was recounting the story of his last journey to Caesarea and everyone was listening to him with rapt attention, affording Ethan and me a veneer of privacy even though we were in public.

Your birthday is two months after Joannas, isnt it?

I shrugged my shoulder, not comprehending the significance.

You will turn seventeen, I believe.

I could feel the color leach out of my skin. Seventeen. The age I had been impatient to reach for over a year. The age when my betrothal would come to an end. The age of marriage. I pretended the roasted lamb in front of me held an indelible fascination and reached out to pick up a piece of bread. My fingers shook so hard that I dropped the bread. I lowered my hand to my lap with a quick motion.

Elianna? I could feel the question in Ethans voice.

Yes?

Will you look at me, please?

I forced myself to look up. A band of pain had started to pound on one side of my forehead and I squinted. Sweat broke out over my upper lip.

You dont want to be married to me? Ethans voice was steady and soothing.

Do you want to be married to me?

Of course I do. Why do you think I have waited all this time? The question is you.

Me?

You dont seem too eager.

My brother . . .

He took a deep breath. I know. We can wait a year if you wish. Thats what I wanted to say. That I am willing to wait.

I could not understand the relief his words brought me. Once I had found the waiting onerous. Offensive. Now it a.s.suaged the panic that threatened to rise up and tear into me with its sharp teeth. Ethan had given me time, which meant I did not need to examine these strange responses for now.

I did not know myself anymore. It was as if Josephs death had somehow entombed a part of me, and what remained was a stranger. I could only live from one day to the next. No dreams. No hopes. Then I realized that was not quite true, either. I had my fathers work. That remained the one place I allowed my dreams to live on and to grow.

We finished the embroidery faster than I had estimated and Ethan turned his attention to finding new customers while we approached Fathers old patrons. My father visited with a handful of his customers himself and made good progress, but his interest waned rapidly. He had lost his enthusiasm for work, for people"for life itself, I sometimes thought.

Send Joel, he said. He will manage. Joel was a young man in his employ who had on occasion dealt with customers in my fathers absence.

I packed Joel off with sample towels and a rolled-up list of potential patrons. His palms were sweaty and his thin beard twitched as he pulled at it. He was unaccustomed to this much responsibility. But we had no alternative. If I had been a son, I could have gone myself. As a woman, I had to stay home and twist my hands and hope that Joel would find a way to overcome his inherent shyness and inexperience and sell my towels.

To my surprise, Joel returned home to tell me that the towels were selling themselves.

Within weeks, Ethan found us as many new buyers as we already had for the towels, doubling our custom with his efforts. We had to get busy embroidering the linen remaining in the workshop. The clamor for our new design wiped us out of every sc.r.a.p of coa.r.s.e linen in our possession. I tried to pay Ethan a portion of our profits, but he would have none of it.

This is business, Ethan. I may need your help for months yet. You cannot afford to give me your time without charging for it. If you refuse, I will stop asking for your help. And then where shall we be?

The breath hissed out of Ethans nostrils. You wish me to charge my own betrothed for a kindness? What manner of man do you think I am, Elianna?

Not kindness. Commerce. I will not abuse our relations.h.i.+p. Look, thanks to you, we have more than sufficient profit. I can afford to pay what is fair. My father will agree with me, I have no doubt.

Your father will agree that his daughters future husband should be paid for helping in her time of need? Offense leaked out of him like a churning river.

I knew him to be wrong in this matter. I could accept help once, but no more. If I allowed myself to become a charity in his eyes, he would soon lose respect for my family and me. I would turn into the burden he had to carry. Take my offer or not, Ethan. I will not waver on this.

Without a word, Ethan turned around and left. I had never seen him this angry. I sank down on a chair. Had I offended him so badly that he would not return? My mouth went dry at the thought. I wanted to run after him and beg his forgiveness. I wanted to tell him that he could have whatever he wanted. Instead, I gritted my teeth and let him go.

Ethan was one of the most levelheaded men I knew. Even his anger was leashed under an iron band of control. But lately, I had come to see that there was a deeper well of emotion in him than I had realized. We had been dealing together as adults for some time now. I had ceased to perceive him through my childish haze of adoration. I saw him as a woman sees a man. He was not perfect. He was not beyond anger and resentment. Hards.h.i.+p and sorrow hurt him much more deeply than he allowed others to see.

And I had wounded his pride.

Better his pride than my place in his heart, I thought. He would get over his pride, no matter how much it smarted now. I was not so sure I could find my way back into his affections once he turned from me.

Master Ezer came that same night and closeted himself with my father in private. I sat stiff and unmoving in my chamber, chewing my nails. Were they discussing how to break the betrothal agreement? Had Ethan sent his father to free himself from me, once and for all?

I ran downstairs as soon as I spied Master Ezer leaving our house. My father was just emerging from the dining room. He seemed gray and smaller than I remembered.

Did he break off the betrothal? I asked, my voice trembling.

What? No.

I leaned against the wall for a moment. Then, wis.h.i.+ng my father peace, I hastened back up the stairs to cry with relief.

Whatever pa.s.sed between Master Ezer and my father, I never knew. But after that, Ethan gave us his help for a share of the profit. The lower the profit, the lower his pay. He never came himself to collect his coin. He sent a servant or his younger brother.

I was careful not to refer to the money when we were together. I suspected that his father had forced his hand, and that Ethan had not acquiesced willingly. Pulsing beneath the surface of his calm exterior, Ethan had a deep vein of resentment about the whole situation.

Lambs were born, plentiful and healthy that year, and everywhere herd owners celebrated their good fortune with such enthusiasm that the sound of their merrymaking kept us awake late into the night for weeks. I had been born the same month as the new lambs and my birthday came and went with considerably less remark than the advent of the new flocks.

Under different circ.u.mstances, we would have been planning my wedding feast. My mother brought up the matter with me once. I explained that I could not face marriage while she and Father needed me so much. She did not try to argue. We both knew that Father still relied on my help. He had not recovered from Josephs death as we had hoped and seemed to live under a veil of malaise that never lifted. His interest in the world of the living remained marginal at best.