Page 40 of Unveiled Tamar’s Story (Mysteries & Wonders of the Bible #1)

Putting her hands on the ground to stand, she caught sight of her left hand.

Her marriage band, a solid gold band with a square ruby, was missing.

She never took it off. Never. It was a symbol of her husband’s devotion, which had waned of late.

She remembered that with a groan. The band was a constant comfort, and she had polished it every afternoon before napping. She had been so tired since… Since…

Two young men dashed out from behind a stone below her on the path.

“Wait!” she called.

They did not look back but ran as if terrified.

They had been the ones she’d heard fighting, she was sure of it.

But what was scaring them? She was only a woman, unarmed and alone.

They were young men in their prime. Looking around, she saw nothing that could intimidate them.

Unless…had her appearance changed terribly?

She touched her face, and examined her hands and arms, but she did not see or feel any deformities.

Then the events of her last day came rushing back.

Pressing a hand to her forehead, as if she could stop them from crashing through her mind, she whimpered as each memory surfaced, one after the other.

The young men were scared of her because her beating heart was a reversal of natural law. No one walked out of the grave.

She remembered that she had been in a bed, her head hurting so badly it was as if each stab of pain was a bolt of lightning. She had heard the voices of her husband and a woman. The woman’s name was… The name was just out of reach.

She was sure there was something more. She had been in bed at that last moment of her life, but just before that, she remembered crouching on all fours, like an animal, panting and groaning. The thought horrified her. What had happened?

She had to get home. Everything felt wrong, and she sensed danger in the air.

If the Romans were in a crucifying mood, she did not want to be alone on the streets.

Only too recently, the Romans had crucified two thousand men at once for revolting against taxes.

The terror, the smell, and the sounds… She had been afraid to leave her home for days afterward.

A woman hurrying over the hill saw her standing there and gasped in fright. Two men following behind shook their fists at Shoshan.

“They will find the body!” one of them yelled. “And the lot of you will be crucified for this! Jesus was just the beginning!”

Shoshan froze, her breath caught in her chest. How exactly did those men know she had been dead and come back to life? Had they seen her in the cemetery?

One of the men leered at her before he hurried away, and she realized she was dressed in only a thin linen tunic, nothing more than a sleeping gown. Instinctively her hand went to her hair. There was no veil covering her head.

She wore immodest bedclothes and had no veil to signify she was a married woman. Never would she dream of walking in public like this.

She found a length of discarded linen on the ground and wrapped it around her shoulders, then grabbed another, wider strip, trying to create a makeshift robe.

More people came over the hill now, dazed and pale, as if in shock.

Shoshan saw the scene as they did, a garden filled with broken graves.

She watched as people looked inside the graves and shrieked in fright, then saw Shoshan and shrieked again.

Shoshan began to flee down the path, shocked to find her legs were strong and steady.

Shouldn’t her body be weaker? Her mind seized upon any evidence to refute the conclusion she had reached in the cave.

Her resurrection was real. But that was hard to accept, even after experiencing it herself.

Besides, she hadn’t felt this good since…

What was it that nagged at her? So much of her memory was still gone.

There was no time to stop and think. Everywhere, she saw open graves, sealing stones lying on their sides, burial linens piled just outside the entrances. All around her, people were shouting. Some of the younger ones raced ahead of her, their eyes wild with fear or hope.

Shoshan now had only one thought: Antonius. She had to get home to her husband. He would know what had happened. He would know what to do next.

Staying close to the wall, Shoshan approached the north side of the city.

The people running from the garden had dispersed back into the pilgrims and merchants entering Jerusalem.

Scanning the crowds, she tried to spot anyone else wearing grave clothes.

Other tombs had stood open. Where were those people?

Wrapping her arms tightly around her chest, she shivered in the afternoon sun.

The oil that had been rubbed onto her arms in the grave stung her nose.

A few women cast sideways glances at her then grimaced at the sight of her, so poorly dressed and unveiled.

None offered to help. Shoshan felt colder under their gaze. She just wanted to get home.

As she approached the Fish Gate, the smell hit her.

Although her mother was a Jew, Shoshan had been raised in Rome, where there were no fresh fish markets.

Everything there was imported, salted, and dried.

The market here sold fish from the Mediterranean and the Sea of Galilee.

The fish sat all day in the sun. They did not smell fresh by this time of day.

Then she noticed the noise, which was as overwhelming as the smell.

“Come and buy!”

“Over here!”

“Just for you!”

As she pressed through the gate, mingling with the crowd, several fishermen stopped, their mouths open midsentence, staring at her lack of clothing.

It took a lot to shock a fisherman, she knew.

She could feel warmth surging to her face with the embarrassment of a strange man staring at her body through the thin material of the grave linen.

A rough-looking elderly man, his face as craggy as the hills behind them, waved a shaking hand at her, beckoning her over. On the table in front of him was a display of fresh fish.

Something about him seemed familiar. Hesitating, she relented and approached him. Why did she know his face?

While she was still searching her memory, he removed his robe and handed it to her.

“Oh, I could not, sir,” she protested, even as she quickly draped it across her shoulders and pushed her arms through. She would do anything to stop the stares, even borrow a man’s robe that was threadbare and had dried fish scales stuck to it along the arms.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a group of young fishermen counting their denarii and eyeing her. They thought she was a prostitute!

Quickly wrapping the tunic more tightly around her, she thanked the stranger for his robe. When her hand passed over her abdomen, a shock jolted her. She needed to remember something, something her body wanted her to know.

The man dug through the satchels at his feet. She watched, wondering what he was looking for.

Not speaking, he frowned in concentration until his hand grasped a coin. As he straightened, his face was pinched, as if he was afraid too.

Why was everyone so afraid?

“Take this to Servia at the gate. She will sell you a veil.”

She studied his face a moment longer, and then the memory came to her. “Oh! I do know you! I know your sons, Simon and Andrew.”

His eyes cleared immediately, and he glared at her, lifting one finger to his lips to silence her. Leaning across the table, he motioned for her to lean toward him too.

“Have you seen them today?” he whispered.

“No,” she admitted. “Were they in the cemetery too?”

“God forbid!” he gasped, jerking backward.

She raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “Did I offend you? I did not mean to. I just… I saw people running away from the cemetery. I thought you meant they had been there too.”

His glare softened, just barely. He moved closer, and his voice became soft. “If you walked with Jesus, get off the streets as fast as you can.”

He turned away from her, shouting out for customers, ignoring her. He would not look at her again.

Shoshan felt as if every eye was upon her, and she did not know why.

She had a robe on now, at least. But still, people stared.

What was happening? Hurrying to buy a veil, Shoshan exhaled in relief as she whipped the thin fabric over her head and face.

Now nothing would bring attention to her.

She looked like any other respectable wife, out for the day’s shopping.

Leaving the Fish Gate market, she hurried along the street toward the living district, where her modest home was. The very thought of home made her feet move more quickly. She would be home, and shut the door, and be in Antonius’s arms in just a few more minutes.

All along the street, people stopped and slowly turned, staring at her before she even passed by.

When they saw her, their eyes ran up and down, as if they were perplexed.

Then their expressions turned to astonishment or terror.

Mothers grabbed their children’s hands and yanked them close.

Men scowled, and their hands turned to fists, or else they crossed their arms, glaring at her.

What was her crime? How was she offending them?

She reached up to touch her face once more then looked at her fingers.

They were pink and full, with no grime on them.

Her face was clean. But something was scaring people, that was obvious.