Chapter 19

Esther’s journey to Jerusalem was much more pleasant than she had had any right to expect. After her sad leave-taking of Hannah, whose intuition informed her—and quite correctly, too—that they would never meet again, she immediately realized her good fortune in falling in with this friendly party from Capernaum.

There were a dozen of them, all related, and they seemed eager to welcome her into their company. The pretty girl Myra, instantly divining that the stranger was facing the trip unhappily, had been quick to confide that she herself hadn’t wanted to come along because all the others were so much older ‘and so tiresomely pious.’ And now that she had found a friend of her own age she was going to have a good time, after all.

This warm-hearted proffer of comradeship was irresistible, and Esther surprised herself by the promptness with which she accepted it. The peculiar circumstances which had surrounded her—and almost suffocated her—ever since her early childhood had permitted but few youthful acquaintances. Since leaving Arabia she had had no girl friends at all. Myra was charming.

Having nothing to conceal, the girl from Capernaum opened the way for mutual confidences by chatting freely about her family. Wizened and wiry Grandfather Asher, with the patriarchal beard, no teeth and two canes, was, by right of seniority, the leader and mentor of the party. Myra’s father, Gideon, lean, sober, and untalkative, walked beside the old man. Her mother, with a timid smile, followed with the other older women.

‘My grandfather,’ she said, ‘is a great one for religion. He thinks of nothing but the Synagogue—and the Temple at the Holy City. He will be talking to you presently, and you’d better show him you’re interested, or he’ll be annoyed.’

They agreed that old people were funny and should be humoured. With her family accounted for, Myra talked about herself, her friends, her harp, her weaving, her sheep-dog, and—demurely, with lowered voice—about handsome young Joel, Jairus’ chief vintner, adding in a whisper that her parents, and particularly her grandfather, did not approve of him.

‘But you do, I think,’ said Esther, which brought a pink flush to the girl’s cheeks.

‘Now let’s talk about you, Esther,’ she said.

This wasn’t going to be so easy as it had been for Myra. Esther was an orphan, vaguely related to a family in Bethsaida with whom she had been living recently; but she was so indefinite about her origin that she soon began to seem somewhat illegitimate. Myra came to her rescue by asking if she lived with the woman who had accompanied her to the highway.

‘Yes,’ replied Esther. ‘Her name is Hannah.’

‘There was a Bethsaidan woman named Hannah who was supposed to have been healed by that Carpenter when she was at death’s door,’ said Myra in a tone of incredulity.