Poisoned Honey: A Story of Mary Magdalene by Beatrice Gormley

woes. I described how Chava had been treating me, and how Eleazar sidedwith her. “Aren’t I the wife?” I demanded.
“I
ought to be in charge of the house, not the daughter-in-law!”
    My mother nodded, her lips tightening.
    “Then can’t you ask Uncle Reuben to speak to Eleazar?” I pressed on. “For the honor of our family, at least.”
    Imma sighed, and she turned her face away. “Yes, our honor … But it’s not so simple. Reuben isn’t in a position to make demands of your husband just now. You see, two of our fishing boats were lost in that storm last week.”
    “Oh, the storm!” I exclaimed. I was shocked that it had slipped my mind.
    “And we’re still shorthanded at the packing works,” continued my mother. “In fact, we couldn’t supply the full number of jars that Eleazar was supposed to deliver to Tiberias. He had to scramble and pay a high price to another supplier, or he would have lost his arrangement with the palace.”
    I began to understand. That must have been the reason for Eleazar’s curtness with me, as well as for Chava’s remark about the “bad bargain.”
    “So it’s still sardines,” I said.
    My mother shrugged helplessly. Chloe exclaimed, “Oh, Mari!”
    “You aren’t the first young wife who had to knuckle under to another woman,” said my mother, recovering herusual tartness. “How do you think it was for me, coming into your grandmother’s house?”
    “Safta?” I exclaimed. “Dear, sweet Safta treated you the way Chava treats me?”
    “She wasn’t always so sweet,” answered my mother.
    Walking slowly back to Eleazar’s house, I brooded over what I’d learned. First, my grandmother was not in her right mind. Second, I couldn’t expect my family to intervene with Eleazar for me. And third—if Imma spoke the truth—even my dear grandmother had once been unkind to the homesick young woman in her household.
    As I entered the courtyard, Chava remarked to the other women, “That one’s used to having plenty of spare time.”
    I was so downhearted from my home visit that I didn’t try to argue or answer back. Remembering the herb packet Safta had given me, I went upstairs to tuck it under the mattress. As I knelt on the floor, a picture flashed in my mind of Nicolaos, my first betrothed, lying on such a bed, holding out his arms.
    Was that what my grandmother meant by “spiteful spirits”? I pressed the packet to my face and breathed the scent deeply to chase them out of my mind. Then I pushed the packet under the mattress, jumped to my feet, and hurried out of the room.
    * * *
    One day, Eleazar’s cousin Thomas, the synagogue elder, came to dine with my husband. His ornamental belt with its heavy silver clasp, as well as the large, silky tassels on the corners of his coat, announced his importance. Eleazar was boyishly excited and pleased, more pleased than he’d seemed at our wedding.
    As Chava and I served the men in the upper room, I listened to their talk. Mainly, it was Elder Thomas giving his opinion about this and that and Eleazar listening respectfully, even if it was about his own business. But when Thomas mentioned the last wave of Tishri fever, Eleazar groaned. “It robbed me of my son, Abram,” he exclaimed. “Why couldn’t my daughters have died instead?”
    Elder Thomas shrugged sympathetically. “Who knows? We can’t see the world the way the Lord does.”
    But I have seen the world that way, I thought. The elder’s words sparked a flame in my mind, lighting up a precious moment in my life that had been dark since my betrothal to Eleazar.
    I remembered the time on Mount Arbel with my father when my soul spread its wings and flew like an eagle. Now I felt close to another such moment, when I would understand through and through why I was here instead of married toNicolaos. Miryam had warned that my path, if I chose it, would be steep and rocky. And indeed …
    “Wife,” said Eleazar sharply.
    I glanced down at the platter in my