 
Click Here Return to Home Page Read First Chapter On the Jericho Road - Room At The Inn Jethen stroked the camel, and leaned into her side murmuring in his deep voice words of velvety comfort. "Let's see it, Sheba," he almost whispered. He didn't want his servants to hear him calling the camel by name. It all went back to the time his father, Amos, found him weeping over a lamb who had died. "Why are you crying, Jethen?" his father asked the small boy. "I found Frisk over in the thicket, dead." The little boy sobbed even louder. Giving words to his grief made him realize his favorite lamb would leap over the hills no more. "Did you take care to dispose of him properly?" At the boy's nod his father then asked, "And did you enter his loss in the records as I taught you?" When his son nodded the second time, Amos lightly touched his son's head. "The animals are our means, son, not our friends. I told you before I do not hold with you naming all the animals. They are your charges, and you must treat them well so they will serve you, but do not make them more than they are. God gave us animals to feed, clothe, and carry us. That is their purpose." That was why the grown man still whispered the names of his animals when others were about, so no one could hear him. "Let's have the hoof, now there's a good girl, Sheba." Obediently the camel lifted her hoof and he saw a rock had wedged its way in, and cut the flesh around it. "There'll be no more walking for you today, girl," he promised. "I'll fetch my tools, and have that out in no time." Before he left the camel, he called to his overseer. "Mishob, unload this camel, she's gone lame. I'm going to get my tools and remove the rock, but I want her burden distributed among the other camels. You set up camp here with the others. I'm going on into Magadan, that is where I intended us to stay the night, but this girl can't make it that far. I'll get the food and water for the other camels." "Yes, Master, will you be asking after your cousin?" Sherai was actually a very distant cousin. It was more a courtesy title from when their fathers had been partners, but they had become friends as children playing together.. Jethen slapped his hand at his side, and curled his fist around the material of his robe. His grey eyes flashed his frustration. "I suppose I will ask after her, Mishob. After all these months, it is unlikely I will find a trace of her here, so far from Sychar. Samaritans aren't too well thought of here in Galilee." "I didn't know we were well thought of anywhere outside of Samaria, Master." The older servant chuckled, then sobered. "It would be even worse for a woman. We've looked all over Samaria, and Jerusalem, from Jericho to Joppa, and have heard nothing of her." "I won't give up searching, and neither should you Mishob. Ask everyone you meet." Neither of them ever spoke the thought that she might be forced into some harem, or other undesirable place. In Jethen's heart he knew that Sherai might be a servant, but never a wanton. "That I will, Master. The poor woman was mistreated, no doubt of that. You'll find her and make it right. I know you will." Mishob then began unloading the camel without further words. Well he knew his master would not wish to speak more, not when there was a chance of the other servants overhearing.
On the road into Magadan on the Sea of Galilee, Jethen did not spend time worrying whether or not his orders were being carried out. He knew that Mishob would handle the animals, and the other servants, with great care. Jethen held few secrets from Mishob because the man helped his father raise and train him to care for their vast holdings. Mishob was more like a friend than a servant. He was also distantly related to him, on his mother's side, and his family always took care of their own. His father pounded that into his head often enough. That was partially why he was so concerned over Sherai. 'Curses on Omini for allowing her to get away from him like that,' he thought for about the thousandth time. He could see Sherai clearly in his mind's eye. Who would have thought that the gangly girl would have grown into the stunning woman she was? He could see her long dark hair, parted in the center to frame her heart shaped face. Her dark eyes were fringed by thick, long lashes, and her skin was the same perfection as a young child's. The last time he saw her, she was still wed to Maachi. A lack of luster in her eyes, and the way she visited with him only in the garden, and not inside the house told him that she was hiding something amiss from him. One thing for certain, Maachi would never have put her aside for no just cause if his father, Amos, or her own father Ashaah were still living in Sychar. As children, she and Jethen ran the hills together among the large flocks owned jointly by her father and his. In those days, Amos and Ashaah were partners. When Amos began to sell for the two families, he introduced fine linens to their market. He sold their wool and cloths along the routes from Sychar to Jericho, and Jerusalem and along the coast from Lydda to Jaffa, Appolonia, Ptolemais, and north to Tyre and Sidon. Amos moved his family to Jericho in order to live nearer the routes between Jerusalem, and Joppa, and the two partners expanded their territory that way. The young people saw one another less frequently after that. When Jethen reached the age of manhood, he accompanied his father on his trips, and yearly they came to Sychar on their route north into Galilee, and beyond to Damascus. It was then that he and Sherai had resumed their friendship. It was as though they had never been apart. She was past the age of many women to marry when Ashaah gave Sherai to Reuel in marriage. Jethen came seldom to her home after that, for he sensed that Reuel was jealous of him. Then Reuel died. Jethen sighed, the memories were not happy ones. So much death, so much suffering for such a young woman. All that would change, he was now of an age to care for her himself. He moved his business back to Sychar a year past. Some of his servants were now overseeing the building of a rather large house outside the city. As he hefted the bag of feed from the back of a mule, he sighed again. He should have left Mishob there to oversee the building instead of Ziriz, but Mishob was the only one in his confidence. He would need Mishob to take Sherai back to Sychar . . . if he ever found her. He arrived at the inn long after the evening meal. He was fairly certain there would be a room for him. He stayed there every time he came through Magadan because he liked Mattheu, the owner. But his wife, Mary, was another matter. She bossed her servants and poor Mattheu about like they were chattel. If he were Mattheu, she would have long ago been set aside, even if she did cook like Caesar's finest chef. Even as he thought it, Jethen was certain that Mattheu would never do such a thing. He suspected that Mattheu asked for Mary because she was the best cook in Magadan. Mattheu's family owned the inn for generations, and one way to keep good custom was to feed the people well. Jethen wondered if Mattheu ever regretted his choice. He never said so to Jethen. Mattheu was a quiet, gentle man who most often sat in his garden and dreamed over scrolls of scripture. Mary would find and scold him, and he would do some chore, and then go back to his meditation. Jethen knocked at the outer gate, but there was no answer. He hadn't really expected anyone to be awake at this hour. He opened the gate and entered the courtyard. There were no hens to flee his coming, they'd gone to roost. As he expected, the latch was free, and he opened the door to the inn and stepped inside. A serving woman was slapping her oil cloth to the table and rubbing with all her might. The inn boasted six such long tables. It was obviously her job, before retiring, to oil them after a vigorous last scrubbing of the day. Her back was to him, and so intent was she in her task, Jethen doubted she heard him. A stray wisp of her black hair escaped its binding and hung down, hiding her face. With a weary hand she pushed it back behind her ear and again rubbed the old table with both hands. He heard her sigh. No doubt with Mary as her task master she would have to also scrub the floors before she could retire. "Is there room at the inn, maiden?" Jethen saw the woman at the table freeze in place at the sound of his voice. She hung her head low, and in the dimness of the room he could not make out her features. He supposed she was shy, and wary of men appearing from nowhere in the night. "I am sorry for the lateness of the hour," Jethen continued, "One of my camels went lame some miles back, and we were forced to stop and relieve her of her burdens. I will only require a room, and some feed for my animals." "What is the matter, churl, are you struck dumb?" Mary's shrill voice preceded her into the room, and diverted the attention of the man to herself. "Pardon my servant, Master. We certainly have a room for our most frequent patron." Mary's voice sounded almost fawning. "Jethen, son of Amos, will always have a room in this inn. To the woman at the tables she ordered, "Go at once and prepare a bed." Seeming grateful to escape, Jethen saw the woman run to do her bidding. Within her hearing Mary's voice continued in diatribe, against her, "Servants are so difficult these days. This one complains of a simple task like oiling the tables. Look at her shoddy work, they'll have to be done again." Jethen did look. It was a lie, the tables were old, and scarred. Mary was too tight-fisted to put out money for new tables, or pay the local carpenter for planing. He said nothing, but allowed her voice to continue unabated. According to her the serving woman did nothing but complain. Jethen imagined that any serving woman of Mary's would have no time to complain. When he stopped here in times past, the little serving maid was too tired to even speak. The poor thing worked until she dropped, night after night, into her narrow bed off the kitchen. At cock's crow she was up and stirring the carefully banked coals into a soft blaze with a handful of fuel. Smoothing the linens over the bed, Sherai regretted whatever fate led her to the very inn her cousin frequented on his many journeys. Tired as she was, her fingers flew as she readied the room for occupancy. With trembling fingers, she lit the oil lamps that cast a friendly glow, and raised eerie shadows on the walls. If the Lord God was kind, she would be finished with her preparations, and out before Mary escorted Jethen to his room. It was not to be, she was warming the bed with heated bricks when she heard Mary's voice still strident and complaining. "I hope she has remembered to warm the bed. I have such difficulty with servants. They seem not to understand the simplest of directives. Ah, here we are. You are still here, Sherai? What can have taken you so long?" Sherai could have told her that this room had needed a thorough sweeping and airing, as it lay neglected several days since there was no custom. She held her tongue because she always did, but she heard Jethen draw in a breath at the mention of her name. Though she kept her back to him, he asked as though he could not believe it, "Sherai? Sherai, daughter of Ashaah, is it you?" "Answer him, woman. Has your tongue deserted you?" Mary could no more resist giving orders than the sun could resist rising. Reluctantly Sherai turned around, but she drew herself up and stood proudly, and defiantly before him. "It is I, Jethen. I work here for Mary and Mattheu." At his look of angry incredulity, a note of pride slipped into her voice, "It is honest work, and I needed it." What she did not mention was the weary weeks she wandered from village to village looking for work before Mattheu took her in. She knew she was lucky to have the job. There was very little work for a relatively young woman to do. She received less than kind offers from other establishments. It appeared there was no work for attractive women, they inevitably dissolved into being kept by the wealthier men in the town. The innkeeper's wife scathingly told her as much when she appealed to them for work. "I need a serving maid and assistant. You would do better with your face and figure as a kept woman. I will have no such woman about enticing our custom." Sherai paled at the woman's coarse cruel tongue, and her heart quailed at the sight of her discontented face. She knew working for Mary would not be easy, and was almost glad the woman did not want her. Unexpectedly, that day the mild mannered innkeeper reproved his wife. "Do not speak so, Mary. Surely you can see that she is a pious woman of a good family? We could use a hard worker," he told her kindly. "I fear the hours will be long, and we cannot afford much, but shelter and food you shall have." Sherai gratefully accepted, and his wife, muttering under her breath all the while, set her to hauling water before she washed the dust of travel from her feet. The innkeeper hired her that day, but it was Mary who saw to it that she earned every farthing. As for the innkeeper, he sank back into apathy and did not seem to notice that his wife treated her as less than a servant. Sherai believed he disappeared into his own world to keep from hearing his name screamed at him by his shrewish wife. What ill wind brought Jethen to her hiding place? Jethen's voice penetrated her memories. "There was no need for you to leave your home, and hire yourself out like this. Omini is worried nigh to death over you. I have searched for you these many months. " "I am sorry to be the cause of any sorrow to Omini, but I could not stay after Maachi . . . Surely, you can see that." It was then that Jethen became aware that the woman, Mary, was listening avidly to their exchange. Deciding to ignore the woman, he took Sherai's hand in his and felt the roughness hard labor impressed upon it. "Go finish your work," he told her gently, "we will talk further in the morning. Do not think to run away in the night. I will follow you until I find you again," he warned. He leaned against the door. At last he found her, here in Magadan of all places. Living as a drudge, his beautiful Sherai. Anger welled in him. He was glad Maachi wasn't standing there in front of him, he wouldn't be accountable for what he might do. "I won't run." Sherai was simply too tired. "I'll get back to the tables, mistress," she told Mary. "Yes, and see that you don't forget the floors. Bank that fire, we'll need plenty of hot water in the morning." Her voice fairly crackled with curiosity, but she was still issuing orders when Jethen closed the door behind her.
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