Page 19 of Unveiled Tamar’s Story (Mysteries & Wonders of the Bible #1)

“He did. But we also all know the dangers of lashing ourselves to a sinking ship. Caiaphas will not relent, especially if he has been looking for a reason to replace me. That does not mean you should suffer too. You were not even working there yet when that veil was made. Of all the weavers, you cannot be blamed. Your newness will protect you.”

But the girl shook her head. “Perhaps I have only been there a few weeks, but in that time I have learned far more than weaving from you, Tamar. It was Illana’s stories of you that made me want to work there, rather than in the merchant weaver’s shop I had been in before.”

“It is the work for the Lord that drew you, not me.” Perhaps it was foolish to try to tell someone her own motivations, but that made far more sense than thinking that she had been a draw for anyone.

She tried to be a good leader, yes. A teacher, helping the women to keep their eyes always on their purpose, not just the mechanical work of their hands.

But she was far from the sort of teacher that gathered disciples. No one ought to follow her anywhere.

Rather than answer, Bithnia made a motion that caught the attention of Illana’s brother.

His name was Gideon, wasn’t it? He must know Bithnia, given how close a friend she was to his sister, and indeed, recognition flashed immediately over his face.

No, not just recognition. Affection clear enough that the concern that chased quickly after it made all the sense in the world.

He eased closer to them but quickly directed his face back to his companion. It wouldn’t do for him to be seen talking to a woman in public. “Bithnia. What are you doing here? I thought we all agreed that you would stay out of sight.”

“Circumstances changed,” she whispered. “Were your words conjecture, or have you heard this from others?”

Gideon sighed. “It was the talk among the priests this morning. I intend to warn Illana, though we both know she will not listen. Last night she said that Tamar had been the only mother she has had in the last five years, since Imma died, and she will not abandon her.”

Another swell of emotion crashed like an errant wave instead of carrying her away. She’d had no idea Illana thought of her like that. “Where is she? I will convince her.”

Gideon jolted when he followed her voice to her figure, frowning and staring at her for a long moment before amazement crossed his face. “Tamar?” He barely whispered her name.

She nodded, knowing Illana’s brother posed no threat to her, especially if she was promising to help keep his sister safe. “I will convince them to be wise. To accept with grace whatever Caiaphas does.”

“You can try,” Gideon said, his doubt clear. “But you will not succeed. If you know my sister at all, you know how stubborn she is.”

She did, at that. It was what had made her such a good weaver. She refused to give up until she’d mastered each new skill. Someday she would be ready for Tamar’s position, after another few years of work.

“Do you know who it is?” At his blank blink, Tamar clarified. “Who is Caiaphas’s niece? No one has laid claim to that association.”

Gideon shook his head. “The priests I heard talking didn’t mention her by name. Presumably someone with considerable experience, if he thinks she could handle the responsibility.”

It shouldn’t be what mattered just now. She needed to focus on keeping her girls safe, not on identifying her replacement. Even so, the question wouldn’t leave her mind.

She lifted her chin. “Is Illana at your family home?”

He shook his head. “A cousin’s instead. Though when the temple guards stopped by last night, I told them I was uncertain where she had gone, that she said she was celebrating with a friend but I could not remember who.”

The guards no doubt didn’t believe that, but what could they do?

He told Tamar where to find Illana, made them swear they’d be careful, and then steered his unfamiliar friend away from them.

Her mind was already sketching out the most efficient route through the city, to reach all the women she wanted to reach before sundown. She’d brought with her the scroll with the records of her workers and their homes, tucked into the stola, but she didn’t need to consult it.

She knew who her friends were. How hard could it be to convince them to save themselves?

Sarah stood tall in the main room of her house, afternoon light painting gold over her cheeks as she glowered down at Tamar.

They’d known each other for sixteen years and had always gotten along well.

They weren’t the sort of friends that joked and jested, but they were the sort that brought food to each other when someone had a sick family member, who often ate together when they paused their work in the weaving room, who would walk together through the markets, talking about whatever was on their hearts.

Sarah hadn’t hesitated to begin frowning from the very moment Tamar launched into her explanation—right after she recovered from the shock of seeing Tamar dressed as she was.

“And so,” she finished now, though she felt tired and deflated after hours of this, “it is best if you stand with whomever Caiaphas appoints in my place. Do not defend me.”

Sarah folded her arms over her chest and darted a look toward the doorway.

Mariana and Gaius had been waiting outside each home, not wanting to offend any of her friends by entering, but Sarah had seen them when she opened to Tamar’s knock and demanded an explanation of that and her clothing before she’d listen to anything else.

If she had listened to anything else. “Let me get this straight. You are asking me to break one of God’s sacred commandments?”

“What?” Horror filled Tamar. “Of course not! Why would you—”

“You are asking me to bear false witness against you.” Sarah’s eyes flashed back to hers. “To say that I do not think you are the best woman for your job. That I believe anyone else could do as good a job.”

“I…” She halted, huffed out a breath. “Sarah, that is not what I am asking you to do. I am simply asking you to be silent and protect your own position.” She gestured to the room around her, tidy if small.

Sarah had been widowed ages ago, and her only children were daughters.

Were it not for her position as a weaver, she’d have nowhere to go, no way to support the youngest girl, Naomi, until she was of age to marry like her two elder sisters. “For Naomi’s sake.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed still more. “I would rather return to my father’s house with my daughter, despite his cruelties, than let her see me deciding to save myself at the cost of my friend. That is not what the Lord would want of me, Tamar.”

Tamar’s shoulders sagged under the featherlight weight of the silk she wore. “You would rather put this burden on me? To know that I am the ruin of so many?”

“You are guilty of nothing .” Sarah slashed a hand through the air. “Everyone knows it. So instead of wasting your time trying to convince us to abandon you, you should be trying instead to find a way to convince Caiaphas of this. You will save us by saving yourself , Tamar.”

She’d visited five other women already today, and though none had been quite so forceful as Sarah, that was the bottom line they’d all reached, despite Tamar’s best efforts to convince them otherwise.

More defeats that were twisted victories.

She couldn’t keep the tears from surging to her eyes.

She could appreciate their loyalty, their friendship, their faith in her.

Her heart ought to be uplifted by their support.

Instead, she couldn’t shake the gnawing fear that she’d only drag them all down with her, every one of them who refused to denounce her and promise their allegiance to her replacement.

Would Caiaphas replace a quarter of the weavers? Half? Three-quarters?

Each of the five she’d talked to swore that the other girls they worked beside would stand where they did—beside Tamar.

Her only hope at this point, horrible as it was, was that they would change their minds when it came down to it. That they would melt away in the face of adversity, like the crowds who had welcomed Jesus a week ago.

Sarah reached out and settled her hand on Tamar’s shoulder, making her newly aware of the exquisite fabric that covered it.

“Tamar. I see how heavy this burden weighs on you, but please, my friend. Do not ask us to abandon you. I have nothing against Davorah, you know I have not. If you were not there at all, she would be a fine enough leader, I suppose. But she is not you. She does not have your talent at the looms, and she does not have your way with people.”

Tamar’s head snapped up. “Davorah?”

Sarah frowned. “Did you not know that is who it is? I suppose not. She does not… She is not fond of her uncle. I know she has made an effort to keep the association unknown so no one looks at her differently since his appointment all those years ago. But I thought you knew—it has been so long.”

Davorah. Tamar shook her head, her mind flashing back to yesterday, when she’d returned from the temple. Davorah had been there. Davorah had asked where she was going. Had she already known Caiaphas’s plan? Had they made some secret agreement that at the first mistake she made, they would pounce?

Her skin prickled. How fortunate that she hadn’t known where she was going, to tell the woman she’d thought was a friend, if a vague one. Hadn’t she thought even then about how little she knew the woman she’d served beside for longer than anyone else? Davorah was always so quiet, reserved.

Perhaps because, all along, she’d been harboring resentment. Bitterness. Hating Tamar for gaining the leadership role despite being the younger, just because she’d been brought on a bit earlier.

But with Tamar gone, Davorah would be the senior weaver. Caiaphas wouldn’t need to pull any strings or rely on his position to give Tamar’s to her. She was the logical choice. The heir apparent, so to speak.

Sarah squeezed her shoulder again and then dropped her hand away. “Fight this, Tamar. Fight, knowing we will all fight with you.”

Feeling a bit dazed, Tamar found herself nodding. “I will. I will fight.” She didn’t know how to win, or if it was wise to try. But somehow, knowing the name and face of her adversary stoked the fires within her.

It had been one thing when Caiaphas was the only opponent she could name. It had been easy to see only his position and defer to it. But Davorah, she knew. Davorah, she had trusted. Davorah had betrayed her.

Her fingers curled into her palm. She glanced up at Sarah briefly and then spun toward the door. “Thank you, Sarah. I wish I had spoken to you first.”

Her friend hurried to open the door for her, her frown just as intense as it had been before.

“Tamar, do be careful. Do not confront anyone today. Caiaphas is still in a rage, waiting for that teacher’s disciples to try something.

He’ll be better appeased tomorrow, when the third day has dawned and He is still dead in the tomb. ”

Tamar saw both Bithnia and Mariana wince at Sarah’s words, but she couldn’t dwell on that right now. She was sorry they were mourning, but what did they honestly expect to happen when they followed a teacher who claimed to be the equal of God?

He had been crucified. Buried. No amount of sorrow would change that, and though Sarah’s words sounded harsh, they were still true. Not just for their teacher, but for Caiaphas, and hence her.

She nodded her agreement. “I will wait.”