Star over Bethlehem by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

the women with great jars of fresh water on their heads, toiled up the slope from the spring in the cleft of the cliff, to the village above.
    Mary was still strong, but she was not as young as most of the women, and it was an effort to her to keep pace with them.
    Today the women were very gay, for in a few days’ time there was to be a wedding. The girl children danced round their elders and chanted monotonously:
    â€œI shall go to the wedding … I shall go to the wedding … I shall have a ribbon in my hair … I shall eat roseleaf jelly … roseleaf jelly in a spoon …”
    The mothers laughed, and one child’s mother said teasingly: “How do you know I shall take you to the wedding?”
    Dismayed, the child stared.
    â€œYou will take me—you will—you will …” And she clung to Mary, demanding: “She will let me go to the wedding? Say she will!”
    And Mary smiled and said gently: “I think she will, sweetheart!”
    And all the women laughed gaily, for today they were all happy and excited because of the wedding.
    â€œHave you ever been to a wedding, Mary?” the child asked.
    â€œShe went to her own,” laughed one of the women.
    â€œI didn’t mean your own. I meant a wedding party, with dancing and sweet things to eat, and roseleaf jam, and honey?”
    â€œYes. I have been to weddings.” Mary smiled, “I remember one wedding … very well … a long time ago.”
    â€œWith roseleaf jam?”
    â€œI think so—yes. And there was wine …”
    Her voice trailed off as she remembered.
    â€œAnd when the wine runs out, we have to drink water,” one of the women said. “That always happens!”
    â€œWe did not drink water at this wedding!”
    Mary’s voice was strong and proud.
    The other women looked at her. They knew that Mary had come here with her son from a long way away, and that she did not often speak of her life in earlier days, and that there was some very good reason for that. They were careful not to ask her questions, but of course there were rumours, and now suddenly one of the older children piped up and spoke like a parrot.
    â€œThey say you had a son who was a great criminal and was executed for his crimes. Is that true?”
    The women tried to hush her down, but Mary spoke, her eyes looking straight ahead of her.
    â€œThose that should know said he was a criminal.”
    â€œBut you didn’t think so?” the child persisted.
    Mary said after a pause:
    â€œI do not know of myself what is right or wrong. I am too ignorant. My son loved people—good and bad equally …”
    They had reached the village now and they divided to go to their own homes. Mary had farthest to go, to a stone croft at the very end of the cluster of sprawling buildings.
    â€œHow is your son? Well, I hope?” asked one of the women politely.
    â€œHe is well, thanks be to God.”
    To erase the memory of what had been said before, the woman said kindly:
    â€œYou must be proud of this son of yours. We all know that he is a Holy Man. They say he has visions and walks with God.”
    â€œHe is a good son,” said Mary. “And, as you say, a very Holy Man.”
    She left them to go her own way and they stood looking after her for a moment or two.
    â€œShe is a good woman.”
    â€œYes. It is not her fault, I am sure, that her other son went wrong.”
    â€œSuch things happen. One does not know why. But she is lucky in this son. There are times when he is animated by the Spirit, and then he prophesies in a loud voice. His feet, they say, rise off the ground—and then he lies like one dead for a while.”
    They all nodded and clucked in wonder and pleasure to have such a holy man amongst them.
    Mary went to the little stone cottage, and stood the jar of water down. She glanced towards where a man sat at a rudely fashioned table. There was a scroll