Anna arrived home before Yoseph. She peeked around the goatskin curtain that walled off her mother’s private living space. She found her asleep. Thankfully, the yelling had not wakened her. Hurrying, Anna slipped back into the main room and dropped onto her mat. When she heard her father approaching, she feigned sleep, keeping one eye slit open, to watch him.

Yoseph swept into the house like an intruder. He smelled of sweat and anger. He bent to remove his sandals and headed for his mat.

Mari stirred. “Yoseph?” she whimpered.

“Yes, I am here,” he grunted. Without another word, he disappeared behind the partition.

Anna heard him lie down on the mat next to Mari.

Mother! she wanted to cry out. He has killed Zahra!

But her mother did not know. And let him lie next to her. Let his bloodstained hands touch her, and his lips press on hers. Anna’s stomach rolled. She grabbed at her throat as if she might choke. It was then she felt the chain around her neck. And recalled Zahra’s last words.

Tell no one!

Anna buried the medallion deep within her robe, fearful that her father might see it and kill her, too.

CHAPTER 3

A village on the outskirts of ancient Palestine—10 A.D.

It was the sound of scratching that woke Anna. An insistent digging at the floor next to her head. She opened her eyes and saw their scrawny guinea hen, a dull patchwork of missing feathers, raking the ground with its claws. Across the room, dusty spots of light poured through holes in the camel hide, the day’s heat burning the dank animal odor. Anna’s eyes focused and found her father tending a fire that starved along with their animals.

Yoseph held his hands above the stunted flames. The bit of warmth brought relief to his joints. His once-limber fingers had grown bulbous and knotted, like gnarled tree branches. It had been three years since he had been able to hold his carpentry tools. Discarded and rusting, they lay askew in a wooden box outside the door.

“Anna,” Mari called from behind the partition, “go to the well.”

Leaping to her feet, Anna wrapped the tattered remains of her shawl around her face and pushed through the camel hide.

Outside, the village was quiet. Only the breeze moved. Everyone had gone about their day.

She walked past the manger. The roof had caved in like a saddle, and the stones above the door tumbled into a pile at the entrance. The family’s remaining cow, guinea hen, and goat were now kept, shamefully, inside the main house.

Beyond the fallen manger, Yoseph’s workshop lay dark and sealed, still as a tomb. He had stopped going inside three years ago, following the death of his son.