The Handmaid and the Carpenter by Elizabeth Berg Read Free Book Online Page A

Through me, he will satisfy the hungry. Because of my child, he will have shown Israel mercy, as promised. From now on I shall be not scorned but called blessed, even as you have called me so. I am full of grace.”
    Now Joachim wept openly, and Mary turned to embrace him. “Do not despair, Father,” she said. “I am strong and happy and clear in my mind. Take your rest and nourishment here, and then leave me with Elizabeth; you see that she understands.”
             
    “HOW GOES IT with your mother?” Elizabeth asked Mary early the next morning. Joachim had left a short while ago, fortified by a breakfast of hummus and flatbread and grapes, and now she and her cousin sat in the as-yet empty courtyard, the sun bright above them. Mary knew what Elizabeth meant by her question.
What does your mother think about all of this?
    “She, too, was visited by an angel, and in this way told she was with child,” Mary said. She was weary to her bones; she had slept poorly, and the exalted confidence she’d felt yesterday was lacking in her this morning. Already she missed her father. She missed Joseph. She missed her mother and her friends.
    “Angels come to many, though not all have the courage—or the wisdom—to speak of it,” Elizabeth said.
    Mary looked over at her. Her face was old and lined but her eyes clear and wise. She was an intuitionist and an oneiromancer, as well as a great healer. She was known in Judea as the one to come to when one was desperate, when nothing else had worked. Elizabeth had taught Mary’s mother much of what she knew about healing, as Anne had then taught Mary. For generations, it had run strong in both sides of Mary’s family, such gifts for curing, such strong perceptive abilities.
    Elizabeth’s compassion was well known, too; those she could not cure she would stay with as they died, easing them back into God’s hands. So for all her homesickness, Mary was glad to be with Elizabeth. Mary would help with chores as Elizabeth’s time drew nigh, and in return she would be comforted and consoled by her cousin. And educated! Mary knew that now she would pay close attention to the ways of the woman with child, especially when the baby was born. Mary had heard the cries of women in labor, had seen that sometimes the baby died, or the mother, or, saddest of all, both.
    She shivered at the idea despite the heat, and Elizabeth, knowing her thoughts, smiled kindly at her. “There is much to consider, my child. But in this, as in all things, each day comes one at a time. No matter our urging, the crops will not grow but according to their own schedule. You will learn patience. You will come to understand the thing that has happened to you, and why. You will learn what to expect when your own time comes; I will teach you ways of easing discomfort. When you return home, it will be not as a child but as a woman.”
    Mary nodded, relieved, but then began to weep. She surprised herself in this. “Forgive me,” she said, the urge to laugh vying with the urge to cry harder.
    Elizabeth reached out to put her hand on Mary’s shoulder. “It is the way of women with child, that their emotions run strong and with great variation. Much has been thrust upon you. Yet be not ashamed, and ask no one’s forgiveness.” She leaned closer to Mary. “For I say to you again, you are blessed.”
    Mary smiled gratefully.
    “Tell me again of the angel,” Elizabeth said, leaning back on her hands and showing Mary a face full of eagerness, as though she were a child ready to hear her favorite story.
    Once more Mary described the event as best she could, and Elizabeth listened carefully and with great pleasure. Her eyes did not widen in awe, she did not scoff and decry Mary’s words, she did not protest the likelihood of such an event. She knew of aberrant voices of instruction, of events beyond understanding. And when Mary had finished her story, Elizabeth said simply, “So be it. Now let us eat, for my