Author: Elizabeth Bennent
Discalimer: This story half belongs to the authors of the Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. I am not making any money off of this (for details see John 2:12, Jesus in the Temple.) But original characters and situations are mine, so please ask if you would like to use. Thanks.
Dedication: As always, to the Princess Circle. Also, to the cast of Guilford's "Jesus Christ Superstar."
Three days after her His death, Mary lay in bed asleep, but gruesome nightmares still seemed to sweat out of her pours. The most recent dream troubled Mary's sleep that third morning; terrifying and vivid.
It depicted the afternoon of her Husband's death. He was hanging on the ragged wooden posts crossing one over the other. His hands and feet were glistening-red and dripping with his sweet Blood. He hung in a peaceful state, like that of a person before their sleep.
The gravel Mary kneeled on bore into the skin covering her knees. She looked down to see a hand next to her leg. It was a rough, calloused hand from years as a fisherman and living a rustic life. It was Peter. He looked up to the dying Rabbi with a triumphant smile spread across his face.
"Peter?" Mary asked shakily.
He slowly turned his face to her. His hair was graying; his skin sagged, folding over his once-worshipful eyes. He aged many years in the short moment he turned to look at her. He still had the smile playing across his rough lips. His eyes frightened her. Only the whites of his eyes showed as they rolled around in his head. Mary wanted to run, but she couldn't leave Jesus alone. She couldn't move.
In a demonic voice, he said, "I have denied Him." The voice was so familiar. It had haunted Mary years before. Terror took over her heart. The sky darkened. Somewhere in the distance she heard locusts. Or was it cruel laughter? They sounded they same.
He laughed and blood started to spurt out of Mary's own palms and feet. "I take charge now..." he said.
"NO! He's a follower!" Mary shrieked, waking up. She rose up quickly from her sleep. Cold sweat dripped off her face. She checked her hands and feet to make sure they were still whole and did not drip with blood.
Breathing heavily, she placed her hands around her large abdomen. She looked down at it and hugged it closer. The baby would never know their father. Mary and her child could be subjected anything now that he was gone. More horrifyings arrests, lashings, crucifixions, and other twisted executions. Mary could take it. She had borne many terrors. But the child…
Mary slowly rose to her feet. She changed out of the shift she had worn for three days now. It was grimy. Blood and dirt stained the hem and cuffs. She placed it in the basket and pulled on a new one, and examined her choices for a clean robe. Black would be appropriate. But a flash of bright blue caught her eye from the folded clothes she had brought with her. Jesus had loved that robe. It belonged to His mother before she gave it to her daughter-in-law. It smelled like his mother, He had said.
"Scents trigger blessed memories that are given by God," Jesus had said, "They are treasured keys to help you be closer to Him as well as your loved ones."
Mary pulled it on. It was a comfort. It was more comforting than the black robe. So it stayed draped around her body.
The small room Jesus and his followers had been staying in while they were in Jerusalem was cold. The fire had gone out. Mary had to re-build it slowly, due to her gravid womb. After the fire was going, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was streaked with dirt, her eyes were still red and hollow looking from the tears shed, her long, dark hair was tangled and knotty. She refused to do anything about it, however. She had gone like that for three days. Looking presentable wouldn't change anything.
Jesus' mother, also named Mary, appeared in the doorway with a basket of newly bought food. She had tidied up and her shoulders were squared into a strong position that gave Mary a sweeping feeling of comfort.
"My daughter..."she said upon entering and walking to Mary to stroke her cheek, "You are awake. Try and get more sleep. You hardly slept at all last night."
"I fear sleep now. Satan tortures it," Mary said quietly, "Just as it did years ago."
"We all fear the Evil One, child. Have faith...you are safe from it. My Son cured you," said the Mother.
"Satan…it possess Peter in my dreams," she said.
"Satan wouldn't lay a hand on Peter, daughter. He is a follower," she said.
"He wouldn't while your Son was alive; but Jesus is dead now...I have no more protection Mother!" Mary said, "And you know very well that Peter would like to lead the disciples. He might do anything to take the coveted position."
"Mary, that's nonsense. Peter knows how Jesus loves you. He wouldn't hurt you. And do not forget...our Teacher isn't really gone, child," she sighed, "I know it is hard to believe this all happened. It's all part of His plan, you know that, right?" said the older woman.
You're being selfish, Mary told herself. "I do," Mary said. She then examined the elder woman. Mother was tired, worn, and yet still strong and pure in her movements and voice. Mary noticed that there was now a kind of mark left upon this woman by Jesus. It wasn't seen, but felt.
Mother sighed. "I bought fish, apples, and wheat for bread."
"Mother...let me pay you for the food. I have plenty of money. Save yours," Mary said, reaching for her purse filled with the wealth she had carried for a long time.
"No, you save that for when the baby comes," she said, setting the basket of food next to the small fire, "You can eat and then visit the...the tomb."
"Yes my Mother," said Mary.
Mary helped her Mother-in-law prepare the morning meal of boiled wheat grains and apples. Mother seasoned the fish. When at last the meal was ready Mary sat down on the mat, but did not eat any of her food.
"Mary, please eat," said the Mother.
"Yes my Mother..."
She picked up a slice of an apple as the Mother began to eat her own food.
Mary, have an apple...
The smell triggered her memories…