Journey to the Well: A Novel

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Taylor, Diana Wallis, 1938-

Journey to the well : a novel / Diana Wallis Taylor. p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-8007-3309-4 (pbk.)

1. Samaritan woman (Biblical figure)—Fiction. 2. Jesus Christ—Fiction. 3. Bible. N.T.—History of Biblical events—Fiction. 4. Women in the Bible—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3620.A942J68 2009

813’.6—dc22 2008048716

Scripture is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

To my husband Frank,
my children, Karen, Steven, and Brett,
and my family
who over the years have shown me
the many faces of love and
helped me on my own journey.

PART I

Reba

M
arah! Come at once!” At the sound of her name, she paused from cleaning the ashes out of the clay oven and sat back on the ground to relieve her sore knees. Hearing the happy chatter of small children playing in the dust of the street outside the gate, she listened wistfully and sighed once again. She was nearly thirteen, a woman now, too old for such childish games.

Wiping her hands on her dark shawl, she rose slowly and stretched as she looked out over the village. The air seemed less heavy than the previous day. The village dogs that lay panting in the sparse shade most of the day would be seeking to quench their thirst in the water channels that cooled the street. While the surrounding valley of Shechem retained a verdant green, the town itself shimmered in the summer heat of Elul.

The time of noonday rest must be over. Marah heard voices and activity from the heart of Shechem. Picturing the streets as they came alive with shopkeepers opening their stalls for the afternoon trade, she smiled to herself as she allowed her imagination to take her through the marketplace. At each merchant’s shop brimming with goods, she browsed leisurely, ignoring the persuasive pleas of the vendors. She would take her time, choosing carefully the things she wanted to buy—

She glanced reluctantly toward the house. Did her aunt have still another task in mind? She lifted her chin and strolled toward the gate to watch the children play. It seemed an eternity since she had been free to be a child.

“Marah! Come at once,” the now angry voice called out again.

She had delayed too long. Lifting the heavy braids off her neck in an impatient gesture, Marah turned and walked slowly toward the house. A rivulet of perspiration ran down her back.

Like other things around the house, the wooden door to their dwelling was in need of repair. It hung loosely on worn leather hinges. Marah moved it carefully as she slipped inside and stood quietly.

A narrow ray of sunshine spilled into the darkness and fell upon the rounded figure of a woman leaning back upon the cushions of a pallet. The petulant face was deeply creased around the mouth from constant frowns and made the woman, who was in her late twenties, appear much older.

“I am here,” Marah said softly.

Immediately the woman began to gasp, as if struggling to catch her breath. At the sign of such apparent distress, Marah moved closer and touched her aunt Reba’s shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” Reba roughly brushed the girl’s hand away. “I can’t bear to be touched when I am suffering.”

Marah quickly stepped back.

“Don’t stand there looking foolish. Have you never looked death in the face? Just bring me some cool water.” Reba moaned again.

Her aunt was not dying, Marah was sure, yet it frightened her to think it might be serious. Reba was all she had. Turning to the water jar, Marah averted her eyes lest her aunt see the fear that sprang so quickly to the surface.

As she lifted the dipper, Marah was surprised to see the jar was nearly empty. It had been full this morning.

She handed the dipper to Reba who, with much effort, raised her bulk onto one elbow to drink a swallow or two.

“Aunt, the water jar is nearly empty.”

The woman fell back among the cushions with another round of pitiful moans. “I feel feverish. You must go and get more water or I shall not last the night in this heat. Go to the well of Jacob and fill the water jar before it grows later.”

Puzzled, Marah stared at her aunt. “The well of Jacob? But Aunt, surely the village well is closer. I could go and be back quickly.”

“Did I say the village well? Don’t be a dull-witted girl. If I wanted the water from the village well, I would say so. Now go!”

Marah stiffened at the insult, but still she hesitated. Reba had become unusually strict in the last few days and had forbidden her to leave the house or speak to anyone.

As if reading her thoughts, Reba raised herself up again. “You have not been out in the last few days. The walk will do you good. Take Hannah with you. You shouldn’t go alone.”

Still Marah lingered.

“Must you stand there wasting precious time? Go!” Reba waved her hands impatiently.

“Yes, Aunt.” Marah’s voice was barely audible.

Reba covered her eyes with one hand and the other hand clutched her heart. “Go quickly,” she moaned.

“Will you be all right until I return? Perhaps Dorcas could stay with you?”

“Did I ask for Dorcas? I will just rest until you return. Now go!”

Puzzled and yet relieved to be free of the confinement of the small house for a little while, Marah adjusted her shawl to cover her hair, lifted the water jar to her shoulder, and moved gracefully toward the door. Her body, curving into womanhood, filled out the simple garment she wore. Even in her youth she was already tall, as were most of the women of Samaria.

Marah looked back for a moment at the woman on the pallet. There was something . . . but perhaps she only imagined it. She hurried from the house and quickened her step. It would be good to talk to Hannah today.

When Marah’s mother died six years before, her father grieved deeply but eventually realized his daughter needed a woman’s care. He sent for his only sister, Reba, to come to Shechem and care for their household. How could they have foreseen the change her aunt would bring to their lives? Reba’s small, darting eyes had never missed an opportunity to point out a fault. Two years later, when her father also died, Marah was left in the care of her aunt. Though only in her early twenties herself, it was Hannah who became Marah’s surrogate mother, and through the years, it was her warmth that had made Marah’s life less lonely.

As Marah neared the house of Hannah and her husband, Simon, her friend stepped out of her doorway.

“So, you finally come to see me, and with your water jar? I have missed you these past few days.”

Marah shrugged slightly. “Reba wouldn’t let me leave the house.”

Hannah’s warm brown eyes highlighted a plain square face. A gentle smile made her appear almost pretty. “Is the time of women upon you again, child?”

“No, I’m fine.” She looked at Hannah eagerly. “Reba said you could go with me to get water. It is cooler now. Can you go?” She looked hopefully at her friend and waited.

“Could I refuse you any request?”

Hannah turned back into the house and reached for her own water jar.

Suddenly, Marah hesitated. “Reba is feverish but has told me to go to the well of our father Jacob for the water. I am not to go alone.”

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