Poisoned Honey: A Story of Mary Magdalene by Beatrice Gormley Page A

hands. It was tilting, and I righted it just in time to keep the broiled fish from sliding into Elder Thomas’s lap. Eleazar smiled apologetically at his cousin.
    Setting the platter down, I hurried from the room and leaned against the wall outside.
I
, see the way the Lord does? What monstrous self-importance—worse than my idea that I was like Queen Esther.
    Still, the very next day, I felt that I was on the brink of recovering another precious moment. It was my first time to bathe in Eleazar’s
mikvah
, and I plunged in eagerly. As I stood in the middle of the small pool and said the prayer for immersion, I trembled with hope. Would Miryam speak to me again? Oh, I longed so badly to find myself in Miryam’s Well, to be bathed with light, to be assured of my high purpose!
    I held my breath under the water for as long as I could. But it was only ordinary water, and rather stagnant at that. When I stepped out of the pool, I found no one holding out a towel to help dry me; Chava must have called the serving woman away.
    I was chilled, and I did not feel clean, inside or out. NowI doubted that I’d ever received a commission from the prophet Miryam. Certainly, no one else would believe it. But even if I had once been consecrated to a high purpose, that could no longer be. Surely such a mission would have to be carried out by someone fresh and pure, not a used rag like me.
    Months went by. With the winter rains, the hills below Mount Arbel turned green. Weeds sprouted in Eleazar’s courtyard, too. Most of them were quickly pulled up and tossed out the gate, but I found one growing unobserved.
    This plant appeared in the crack between two paving stones, in the corner formed by the courtyard wall and the kitchen shed. Some seldom-used tools leaned there, and I noticed the two round new leaves the size of my little fingernail, only because I was looking for a flax flail. I almost pinched the sprout out of the ground, but then I stayed my hand. I was curious to see what kind of plant it would turn out to be, and so I left it.
    When I looked in the corner a day or so later, the seedling’s first true leaves had appeared. I thought they looked like the leaves of a mustard plant—one of the serving women must have dropped a seed from a pouch of spices. Sure enough, with each new leaf I was more certain it was mustard. By this time, I no longer wanted to pull up theplant. In fact, I moved some of the tools to shield it from view while still allowing enough sunlight for it to grow.
    I got in the habit of looking in on the mustard plant each morning—greeting it, so to speak. If the dirt between the stones looked dry, I would dribble some water on it. But I was careful not to let the others see what I was doing. The seedling seemed like a secret message to me from the One who creates all things:
Look! I’m making a tiny, dry seed turn into a fresh green plant, just for you
.
    On the day that I found a yellow blossom on my plant, my heart leaped. I hadn’t thought the plant was large enough to bloom; in the fields, mustard plants are waist high by the time the flowers appear. But there it was, tiny but bright.
    Footsteps came up behind me, and Chava snorted, “Weeds!” Reaching past me, she yanked the plant up.
    I smothered my cry of distress. I watched her drop the plant on a trash heap by the gate, but I waited until she was busy somewhere else. Then I picked up the mustard plant, which was already limp. Lifting it to my face, I sniffed its sharp scent. It seemed unbearable that its life was over, and I shoved it into the middle of the trash, out of sight.
    I found many excuses to go out of the house. It cheered me a little to visit my family, although for pride’s sake I tried not to go there every day. Chloe always looked glad when Iwalked in the gate. As for my grandmother, I resigned myself to the fact that her words might not make sense. It was still wonderfully sweet, sweet as honey, to feel her tender gaze on me.
    One