Chapter 1

It was almost dawn. Mary sat curled up in the corner of a small room. She was gently rocking herself back and forth in a steady motion as the first shadows of a new day peeked through the small window that served as her pillow. As the morning light dispersed the darkness of night from the room, a quiet glow spilled onto her bare feet. Her dirty, cracked feet, caked with dried blood and throbing from the stones she had tripped over. As she stared at her feet, the tears began to stream down her already dusty face. She closed her eyes tightly as a single picture shot through her mind; Jesus’ feet, hanging lifeless, a large nail pierced into them. Droplets of blood fall like perfect scarlet diamonds on the mound of dirt and rock that encased the base of the wooden cross. These two beautiful feet that had walked many miles and saved many lives, including her own. How could it be the same feet that hung on a tree meant for common criminals? She rocked herself harder and gritted her teeth, trying to control the deep moanings that were inside of her, desperatly trying to break free from her frail frame. She fought to comfort herself by remembering His words, but doubt kept creeping into her mind, causing her thoughts to betray her and bringing more questions to her already unwraveling heart. In a fit of grief, she grabbed her head with both her hands and rubbed her fingers deep against her scalp, trying to stop the myraid of voices in her head. She let the cries break free once more and ave into the pain that wrenched at her soul. When she epended her trapped emotions, she fell back onto the mat, limp, eyes blurred and staring at the wood ceiling. She didn't even know where she was. The small house was unfamiliar. Her heartbeat slowed as she allowed her thoughts to wander back to her last concious moment.
An old woman picked her up from the ground in front of the stone. Mary had been there for hours, face to the dirt, wailing the most horendous cries capable of a human being. She didn’t care who heard her. She just wanted him back. She cried so bitterly that she became violently sick. The old woman came to her, hands shaking. She was holding a dingy rag that was drenched in some sort of liquid. Mary saw no fear in the womans eyes, and allowed her to wipe her face of the vomit and dirt that seemed to be imbedded in her skin. Mary had never seen this woman before and could not get out the simplest of words to thank her for her kindness. When Mary stood up to brace herself against the large rock that had become her support, she became dizzy and fell unconcious to the ground.

How could one small old woman carry her. And why? As Mary’s eyes darted back and forth she couldn’t remember the woman saying anything to her. When Mary woke from her state, she found herself in this little room. As the sun began to brighten her surroundings, she studied the little room from her pallett. No, she had never been here before. She was sure of it. The room was similar to most little houses in Jerusalum, but even the view out of the window, gave her no clue as to where she might be. She rolled to her side and glanced down at the dirt floor to see a bowl of food and a cup of water. She couldn’t remember what day it was. As the words, three days echoed across her mind, she was struck with a flash of hope. She jerked her body up and looked desperately around the room, calling, “Master, Master!”. As the sun rose higher into the sky, it streamed through the open window, forcing light into her eyes. Why does the sun bother to come out at all today? she thought to herself. She, once again, closed her eyes and lay back on her pallet, or as she had come to believe, her death bed, as her heart felt faint within her. Yesterday’s events ravaged her mind with the intensity of the morning sun.

The day had begun like any other. The morning clouds released their hold on the eastern sky to portray the typical season of sun and heat. Mary loved both. The dawning of each day gave her a sense of hope over the past two years that preceeded many days of sorrow and pain. But this day had been different. Voices on the street, people clammering about the events leading up to this day. Rumors of riots, of secret trials in the dead of night. Debates, whispers and physical confrontations about the nature and person of her beloved teacher, Jesus, were central to recent days. She and many others that followed him, moved from circle to circle and house to house, trying to gain new information on the un-parralled and un-ethical decisions of the high counsel.

But as the day grew, the sky submitted to dark and threatening clouds. Loud claps of thunder rolled across the horizon as if heaven itself were groaning. And there Mary sat at the foot of the cross. She didn’t care about the guards that mocked her, spit on her and tried to pry her from her place. They had done worse to her Rabboni. What could they possibly do to her that would compare? She crained her neck to keep her face looking straight up into his as she fought the pain growing in the back of her neck. She turned her eyes away, and clasped her hands on her ears only in the moments when his cries of agony were so intense, she could not bear to see or hear him scream. Her heart wretched at the memory. The tears streaked her face, and she cried out. “Why? Why?”, Her question, lingered on and on, growing softer until it was just a whisper. She began rocking herself again, then laid down, as if to die. Voices ran through her mind, one after another, sometimes one upon another. The voice of Peter, James, and Suzanna ran over and over in her mind. When the voice she had grown to love so dearly, that of Jesus, invaded her thoughts, she felt her body relax. His was a voice full of peace and comfort, like a soft blanket wrapped about her with warmth attached to every syllable that made its’ home in her mind. A single tear fell from the bridge of her nose onto the already soaked cover that lay over the pile of hay that she lied upon. She drifted to the beginning, what she thought was the end of her life. Until she met a man named Jesus. A carpenter. A Nazarine. The Son of God.