Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 14

 

Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 14

© 2021 by Amber Wright

BRUISED AND BROKEN

“Sir, I am not partaking of anything!” Junia felt anger rise inside her but restrained from saying anything that would condemn her into a council that Deacon Demas so loved doing nowadays. “And if you please, sir, you’re hurting my wrist. I would thank you if you would let me go.”

“Not until you’ve had a good speaking to, young lady.” Deacon Demas’ voice turned gravelly.

Before he could begin a lecture that she knew she did not deserve, Junia said hastily. “If you don’t let go of my wrist, I’ll tell my Pah’tehr!”

Deacon Demas let her wrist fall and stepped back with fiery eyes. “You’re an impertinent one, young lady.”

Junia blinked with a sort of scared swallow as Deacon Demas stalked away. After a moment, she collected her wits together and thought to look if Andronika was still behind her.

But the girl had disappeared—and no wonder. What a world we live in! God help us! She blew out her breath and started back to her home, shuffling her feet along the dusty streets, her basket of vegetables feeling heavier than usual. Her heart felt even heavier.

When Junia placed her load onto the table where her mother was preparing supper, she still felt the sting of Deacon Demas’ iron grasp on her wrist…and still felt the sting of her hurting heart. One day at a time, Junia. Watch, pray, believe and trust God. She caught her breath inside, Oh God, where are You?

Her mother unloaded the vegetables from the basket onto the plank wooden table. Already, raw meat was sliced into thin slices in a pot, ready to be mixed with vegetables for a thick stew. Junia watched as her mother placed some of the vegetables aside.

“There’s bruises on those ones.” Eunice said by way of explanation. “I’ll have to cut them off before they come into this pile,” she patted the pile of good vegetables.

“I’m sorry, Meh’tehr.” Junia wrinkled her brow. Earlier she had not looked over her produce as she usually did. “I didn’t see the bruises. I had things on my mind, I suppose.”

Eunice then pulled out a couple of vegetables with a frown. “My, these are rotten through. I’ll not want these.” And she set them aside in a pile of their own.

Junia cringed, closing her eyes for a brief moment, and inhaled a lungful of air. How much pain could a mortal really bear? God, I know You’re there. She twisted her bottom lip, feeling a hot stinging moisture fill her nostrils. But when, God—when does the pain stop? I know You never said it would be easy, but…I’m only human. Help! She sniffed, a dull ache piercing her heart as she placed herself in her friends’ positions. What a feeling to simply be…unwanted.

Like that growing pile of rotten vegetables.

~

“I suppose that fine gentleman of yours,” Tiria said with a twisted smile, watching Junia’s reaction, “is all ready for his trial Thursday, isn’t he? What a remarkable young man of good character, wouldn’t you say, Phebe?”

Junia said nothing but saw Phebe pause in weaving the reed basket in her lap.

Phebe gave her sister a pointed look. “Adher’fi, I will not put that man down any lower than he already is. Let’s just put this matter out of our heads. Back to your work, Tiria—and make sure the reed is secure.”

Junia’s gaze fell down to Tiria’s long-stilled hands and the half-done basket in her lap. As usual, Tiria was talking more than she was working. The basket in Junia’s hands grew larger as she wove the reeds together tightly.

At her sister’s words, Tiria tossed her head back with an injured air and began weaving. Still, the girl would not be silent but spoke swiftly and sharply. “Tell me, Junia, does this friend of yours still excite your little heart? You know what will happen now, don’t you, if Demetrius is proven guilty?”

Of course, Junia knew. She was no fool. Instead of a sharp reply, she weaved intently. “He has not been proven guilty.” In, out went the reeds.

“But he will be Thursday.” Tiria sounded excited. “Ah, it must break your little heart to see your sweet friend in such a position. Such a pity, Junia! Now I’m afraid your wedding will never come about. And here I was planning my robe!”

“I never said anything about—” Junia glanced up, her voice sharpening, “a wedding, Tiria. So sorry to disappoint your wonderful planning.”

Tiria blinked at her cutting tone and fell unusually silent, weaving without another word.

After an awkward pause, Junia piped up. “But if he does plead guilty, I’ll not be surprised.”

Then the only sound in the room was the gentle noise of reeds being woven into baskets.

“Time to eat, my dears.” Mary spoke from the doorway with a cheerful smile.

Junia instantly set her work aside and followed her oldest sister to the table in the kitchen where a simple but hearty meal was waiting.

“Everything looks perfect, Mary.” Junia forced a smile and feigned a cheerfulness she did not quite feel.

“I can share the thanks with my little helper, Eunice.” Mary’s black eyes sparkled into a smile as she squeezed the small shoulders of Titus’ daughter.

Five year-old Eunice smiled, looking up at her aunts. “I helped mix the wheat cakes, Junia, and I liked it.”

“That’s very good.” Junia smiled down at the happy-faced girl and wished she was a child again—with no worries to worry about. “I can’t wait to eat them, Eunice.”

~

Robed in a large brown cloak that covered her entirely, Andronika slipped up the steps of her old home which was a tiny upper room. She felt her heart trip a beat. She was there. At her old home.

There was only one room where they ate, slept and worked in. Her mother’s work was washing clothes, and she had helped her when she was not cooking or cleaning. Her hands had always been wrinkled by scrubbing with hot, soapy water. Those days seemed so long ago now.

Tonight, the air felt freezing as she took each step and the full moon cast light upon her path so she could see. The night was bright. She glanced up to the heavens as she paused on her climb on the stairs. Everything seemed so unchanged and yet…so unfamiliar to her now.

Why had this happened? Everything? Her heart beat inside her as she gazed upwards, silent, reflecting. Would there ever be another bright tomorrow? Would there ever be reason to sing? Would there ever… Her thoughts stopped. She stood there, empty of words inside. She would enjoy this little piece of peace. Beside her old home.

The black night sky sparkled with thousands of twinkling stars. Those same stars—which she had once so admired when she was a young girl in another town in this land of Lydia—shined down upon her now. Perhaps there was hope for her…someday. Looking at those stars made her sigh for once upon an innocent girl she had loved to gaze upon the pure beauty of the galaxy.

Once, in her pureness of youth, she had loved her land of Lydia. Once, in her innocence, she had longed to compare her dreams with the glorious heights of the heavens. To ride the wind by holding an imaginary rope of gold. To feel the air beneath her feet. To see the world fly past her below. So many dreams. So many youthful anticipations!

But now, those dreams were broken, dead, buried deep within her…and shattered beyond repair. Her father was dead, their home and land had been taken, and their riches had been extinguished by the tax-collectors. She felt as lowly as the clay step beneath her.

Andronika softly blew out her breath which puffed into a little cloud of steam. Then she stood still, groaning within herself, feeling the uneasiness of her swollen stomach, and she mouthed her cry. “My baby! My God—help me.”

Though none had heard her cry of help, God had heard. Unknown to her, God had heard every littlest prayer that she had ever prayed—and He would answer them all in His time. One faintest cry of help made Help start on the way.

Andronika crept up the steps again, towards the open window of her old home where one thick piece of cloth hung over it, and she strained her ears to listen for any noise inside. First there was silence; then, she heard her mother’s voice. An odd feeling swept through her, and she felt as if she was a stranger…to her home, to her mother, to her own self. She listened to her mother quietly crying and she reached for the door latch, then stopped herself.

Andronika longed to embrace her mother—to comfort her and tell her everything would turn out fine—but she would not contaminate or bring false hope to her. She had been cast out by the church. Remembering this, she closed her dark eyes and willed herself not to make a sound or enter her mother’s house. This abandonment was the price she must pay for her sin. She inched her feet back, pausing near the window with the cloth covering it.

Her mother’s crying shaped into words. “Oh God, my husband has been taken from me and now my daughter! What must I do? If I am being punished for secret sins I have committed…”

Andronika heard no more for her own words screamed inside of her like a silent breath of fire, Meh’tehr, I would come back but I am too dirty. I am unclean! I can’t come. Please know this. She tasted salty wetness dripping onto her lips as she stood there, huddled against the uneven wall that separated her and her mother. If only things had been different, she would not feel this pain. If only yesterday could be changed or torn from the papyrus of time. Please, some day let it be.

“…God, forgive her!” She heard her mother say those three words, and she felt as if a bolt of light from the sky had struck into her.

Andronika rushed down the steps and onto the street, blinded by tears. Even though she was a sinner and an outcast, her mother had not forgotten her. God, forgive her rang inside her ears as she stopped in the middle of the street. Above, the sky felt like a giant hand surrounding her and yet she felt so lost. She raised her glistening eyes to the once admired stars of God’s creation, her mind screaming. What have I done? God—what have I done!

~

Junia tried not to fidget on the stool she was standing on as her mother knelt on the floor, pinning the hem of her new white robe in which she would wear for Judith’s wedding. The robe itself was complete but now it must be hemmed and pressed; then, she had the task of sewing silky thread and bead work onto its yoke, sleeves, high neckline and hem.

Junia sighed as she remembered what day it was. It was Thursday, the day of the council. The day that would determine Demetrius’ fate. Her throat constricted.

“The hem should be just this,” Eunice pulled another pin from her mouth, “length. Don’t you think, my dear?”

“It doesn’t matter—but yes, that’s fine.” Junia nodded with a glance at her hem. “Thank you for helping me so much on this dress, Meh’tehr.”

“I know you have a lot on your mind right now, Junia.” Eunice gave her a patient smile, and continued pinning.

Silence.

Junia rubbed her right palm against her aching temple as she gazed out the open window. “It must be starting now.”

“What must be starting now?”

Junia half turned to face her mother. “The council.”

“The poor young man,” Eunice shook her head. “So new in the Faith and already going out into the sin of the world again. To steal from the church.”

“He’s not guilty, Meh’tehr.” Junia whispered, not trusting her voice for it felt shaky. “He’s not.”

“Then who is guilty?” Eunice looked up sharply, eyes wide in shock. “The money was there before he came and now it’s gone. Please explain yourself.”

“I can’t say who—but he’s not guilty. I know.” Junia felt a dull pain enter into her, knowing she needed to tell but she had to keep her promise not to tell. She bit onto her bottom lip, slowly meeting her mother’s eyes again. “I can’t say.”

Eunice continued to stare at her. “Then why did you not tell your father before he left for the council?”

“I couldn’t.” Junia felt her emotions pile up inside of her. Slowly and silently, her cheeks began to drip and her throat constricted tighter. “I still can’t say who it is.”

“Why?” Her mother’s voice was tense.

“Because I promised—and a promise can’t be broken.”

A Few Greek Words:

Fil'os: friend

Meh'tehr: mother

Pah'tehr: father

Adher'fi: sister

Adher'fos: brother