Two from Galilee Read Online Free PDF Page A

and—and for others, seems very close to the surface today. I want to laugh and to cry over nothing. The spilled flour, the tangled threads, I want there to be harmony in all things. When two people grind the flour that makes the bread of life together—they should never be pulling against each other instead. And the loom, the patterns interwoven on the loom-"
    Puzzled, Hannah saw that Mary's eyes were luminous and wet. "If only lives could themselves weave smoothly in and out, joining and strengthening each other instead of so often tangling and breaking apart."
    Her mother gave a short uncomfortable laugh. "Truly I do think you should lie down and rest," she said. And she turned and gave a brisk, comical little kick to the loom. "This old loom belonged to your father's mother. I'll never forget the miserable hours I struggled over it when I lived with them. Perhaps it would be well to be rid of it, have some carpenter build us a new one. Then you and your sisters will have less cause to weep over tangled threads."
    Mary gazed at her, shaken with temptation. Some carpenter. And while they were at it. . . . But no, wait. Take this matter up with her father. Then all would be well.
    But now that she had stolen in to where Joachim was sprawled on the cushions for a slight rest after the midday meal, her confidence deserted her. He had roused up, bracing himself on his haunches, scowling as if he hadn't heard aright. He was very tired and sweaty and she saw that she had chosen a bad time.
    "Wherefore?" he demanded. "Have you spoken to your mother?"
    "No. I haven't dared. You know how she feels about Joseph, she's made it only too plain. For some reason she considers him and his family unworthy even to consider as . . ." Her voice shook, she plucked at the fringed shawl he had thrown across his eyes, curiously ashamed—"as possible relatives."
    "No, now, it isn't that she finds them unworthy. It's just that when the time comes there are likelier candidates."
    "Likelier in what ways? Surely you can't believe that how much a man owns or even the amount of his knowledge are what make for happiness. Better a dinner of herbs where love is than a fatted ox and hatred with it."
    "Yes, yes, there's a proverb for everything. It is also written that children are to obey their parents, particularly to respect their mothers."
    Mary let that pass. "You never went beyond the village school, Father, but you've studied, you're wise in the things that matter. You'll never own a camel or a fine house but you've given my mother more important things. Kindness and devotion and . . . love." Her voice broke. It was hard to name it like this in the cold glare of midday. "The kind of love that Joseph and only Joseph is prepared to give me."
    Joachim smiled crookedly and locked his blunt fingers behind his head. "Mary speaks out of her youth and inexperience. Living together in peace and joy is not a matter of passions but of patience. It's like nurturing a seed that has been planted, often in unyielding ground—waiting and tending and wondering sometimes if love will ever sprout at all."
    Mary said quickly, "Truly that is often the case when parents choose their children's mates. But when love is already full blown between two people the painful waiting is avoided."
    "Now, now," he said, startled. Yawning, he turned his back, burrowing deeper into the cushions as if to escape this painful discussion. "Why are we speaking of such things? You are still a child and dear to us. And yes, still needed. There's plenty of time."
    "Forgive me, Father, but I'm a child no longer. I haven't felt like a child for more than a year. My friends and cousins are betrothed and are being married, while I—for all my mother's foolish boasts, I'm forced to dangle like poor fruit on the vine."
    "Poor fruit!" Thumping the pillows, he turned back to her, laughing, but stopped abruptly at the expression on her face.
    "I am almost fourteen, Father," she said, "and I have