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138 pages

English

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One of the most well-known and loved stories of Jesus's ministry is the encounter with the Samaritan woman at Jacob's well. Now the creative mind of Diana Wallis Taylor imagines how the Samaritan woman got there in the first place. Marah is just a girl of thirteen when her life is set on a path that will eventually lead her to a life-changing encounter with the Messiah. But before that momentous meeting she must traverse through times of love lost and found, cruel and manipulative men, and gossiping women.This creative and accurate portrayal of life in the time of Jesus opens a window into a fascinating world. Taylor's rich descriptions of the landscapes, lifestyles, and rituals mesh easily with the emotional and very personal story of one woman trying to make a life out of what fate seems to throw at her. This exciting and heartwrenching story will fascinate readers and lend new life to a familiar story.

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Historical fiction

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Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 mars 2009
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441203809
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0403€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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JOURNEY to the WELL
JOURNEY to the WELL
A NOVEL

DIANA WALLIS TAYLOR
© 2009 by Diana Wallis Taylor
Published by Revell a division of Baker Publishing Group P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287 www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2013
Ebook corrections 02.18.2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means for example, electronic, photocopy, recording without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-0380-9
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Scripture is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
To my husband Frank, my children, Karen, Steven, and Brett, and my family who over the years have shown me the many faces of love and helped me on my own journey.
CONTENTS
Part I
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
Part II
8
9
10
Part III
11
12
13
14
15
Part IV
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
Part V
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
Part VI
38
39
40
41
42
43
Part VII
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
Epilogue
Author’s Note
PART I

Reba
1
M arah! Come at once!”
At the sound of her name, she paused from cleaning the ashes out of the clay oven and sat back on the ground to relieve her sore knees. Hearing the happy chatter of small children playing in the dust of the street outside the gate, she listened wistfully and sighed once again. She was nearly thirteen, a woman now, too old for such childish games.
Wiping her hands on her dark shawl, she rose slowly and stretched as she looked out over the village. The air seemed less heavy than the previous day. The village dogs that lay panting in the sparse shade most of the day would be seeking to quench their thirst in the water channels that cooled the street. While the surrounding valley of Shechem retained a verdant green, the town itself shimmered in the summer heat of Elul.
The time of noonday rest must be over. Marah heard voices and activity from the heart of Shechem. Picturing the streets as they came alive with shopkeepers opening their stalls for the afternoon trade, she smiled to herself as she allowed her imagination to take her through the marketplace. At each merchant’s shop brimming with goods, she browsed leisurely, ignoring the persuasive pleas of the vendors. She would take her time, choosing carefully the things she wanted to buy
She glanced reluctantly toward the house. Did her aunt have still another task in mind? She lifted her chin and strolled toward the gate to watch the children play. It seemed an eternity since she had been free to be a child.
“Marah! Come at once,” the now angry voice called out again.
She had delayed too long. Lifting the heavy braids off her neck in an impatient gesture, Marah turned and walked slowly toward the house. A rivulet of perspiration ran down her back.
Like other things around the house, the wooden door to their dwelling was in need of repair. It hung loosely on worn leather hinges. Marah moved it carefully as she slipped inside and stood quietly.
A narrow ray of sunshine spilled into the darkness and fell upon the rounded figure of a woman leaning back upon the cushions of a pallet. The petulant face was deeply creased around the mouth from constant frowns and made the woman, who was in her late twenties, appear much older.
“I am here,” Marah said softly.
Immediately the woman began to gasp, as if struggling to catch her breath. At the sign of such apparent distress, Marah moved closer and touched her aunt Reba’s shoulder.
“Don’t touch me!” Reba roughly brushed the girl’s hand away. “I can’t bear to be touched when I am suffering.”
Marah quickly stepped back.
“Don’t stand there looking foolish. Have you never looked death in the face? Just bring me some cool water.” Reba moaned again.
Her aunt was not dying, Marah was sure, yet it frightened her to think it might be serious. Reba was all she had. Turning to the water jar, Marah averted her eyes lest her aunt see the fear that sprang so quickly to the surface.
As she lifted the dipper, Marah was surprised to see the jar was nearly empty. It had been full this morning.
She handed the dipper to Reba who, with much effort, raised her bulk onto one elbow to drink a swallow or two.
“Aunt, the water jar is nearly empty.”
The woman fell back among the cushions with another round of pitiful moans. “I feel feverish. You must go and get more water or I shall not last the night in this heat. Go to the well of Jacob and fill the water jar before it grows later.”
Puzzled, Marah stared at her aunt. “The well of Jacob? But Aunt, surely the village well is closer. I could go and be back quickly.”
“Did I say the village well? Don’t be a dull-witted girl. If I wanted the water from the village well, I would say so. Now go!”
Marah stiffened at the insult, but still she hesitated. Reba had become unusually strict in the last few days and had forbidden her to leave the house or speak to anyone.
As if reading her thoughts, Reba raised herself up again. “You have not been out in the last few days. The walk will do you good. Take Hannah with you. You shouldn’t go alone.”
Still Marah lingered.
“Must you stand there wasting precious time? Go!” Reba waved her hands impatiently.
“Yes, Aunt.” Marah’s voice was barely audible.
Reba covered her eyes with one hand and the other hand clutched her heart. “Go quickly,” she moaned.
“Will you be all right until I return? Perhaps Dorcas could stay with you?”
“Did I ask for Dorcas? I will just rest until you return. Now go!”
Puzzled and yet relieved to be free of the confinement of the small house for a little while, Marah adjusted her shawl to cover her hair, lifted the water jar to her shoulder, and moved gracefully toward the door. Her body, curving into womanhood, filled out the simple garment she wore. Even in her youth she was already tall, as were most of the women of Samaria.
Marah looked back for a moment at the woman on the pallet. There was something … but perhaps she only imagined it. She hurried from the house and quickened her step. It would be good to talk to Hannah today.
When Marah’s mother died six years before, her father grieved deeply but eventually realized his daughter needed a woman’s care. He sent for his only sister, Reba, to come to Shechem and care for their household. How could they have foreseen the change her aunt would bring to their lives? Reba’s small, darting eyes had never missed an opportunity to point out a fault. Two years later, when her father also died, Marah was left in the care of her aunt. Though only in her early twenties herself, it was Hannah who became Marah’s surrogate mother, and through the years, it was her warmth that had made Marah’s life less lonely.
As Marah neared the house of Hannah and her husband, Simon, her friend stepped out of her doorway.
“So, you finally come to see me, and with your water jar? I have missed you these past few days.”
Marah shrugged slightly. “Reba wouldn’t let me leave the house.”
Hannah’s warm brown eyes highlighted a plain square face. A gentle smile made her appear almost pretty. “Is the time of women upon you again, child?”
“No, I’m fine.” She looked at Hannah eagerly. “Reba said you could go with me to get water. It is cooler now. Can you go?” She looked hopefully at her friend and waited.
“Could I refuse you any request?”
Hannah turned back into the house and reached for her own water jar.
Suddenly, Marah hesitated. “Reba is feverish but has told me to go to the well of our father Jacob for the water. I am not to go alone.”
“Jacob’s well?”
With her hand paused in midair, Hannah turned and looked closely at Marah, then snorted. “If I should live to see a hundred harvests, God willing, I shall never understand your aunt.”
Hannah reached again for her water jar. “Of course I will come. Your aunt is right. You shouldn’t walk so far from the village alone.”
Marah waited impatiently, anxious to be away lest Reba change her mind and fetch her back to the confines of the house. She thought of the many springs that flowed nearby that fed the village well. Why would Reba tell her to go all the way to Jacob’s well when she felt feverish?
Hannah interrupted as though reading her thoughts. “If Reba feels the water from the well of our father Jacob will make her feel better, let us go quickly,” she said with resignation.
Hannah cared little for Marah’s aunt.
“You do all the work of the household while Reba spends her time in idle pursuits and walking through the street of the merchants,” Hannah said more than once. “She takes advantage of you. And all those aches and pains are in her head!”
“She gives me a home” Marah replied once.
“A home?” Hannah snorted. “And what home have you got, Reba’s? It belongs to a distant kinsman. It should have been yours. You are the only child.”
Marah sighed. It was difficult to defend her aunt to Hannah.
“The Levirate law requires you to keep your land within the tribe, yet Reba claims there was not a kinsman redeemer to be found who could marry you,” Hannah had stated flatly. “And what will be your dowry when you do marry? How will you live when the money from the sale of the house and land is gone?”
Shaking her head with righteous indignation, Hannah looked out at the street leading to Marah’s home and folded her arms. “She brings more sorrow to the house. Have you not borne enough with the death of your parents and then to be saddled with that woman?”
Marah kept silent.
“A selfish woman, that Reba.” Hannah rolled