Mari rolled to face her daughter. Brushed the curls from her forehead. Despite the dull pain inside her, she marveled at the color and allure of Anna’s eyes.

“You,” she whispered. “What will become of you?”

“I will become a carpenter like Father!” Anna said.

Mari gave a doubtful smile. Her eyes filled with tears. She cupped Anna’s face in her hands. She drew her close and whispered, “I had so hoped that you would be taken from here—” she began, then stopped herself. There was no point in clinging to impossible dreams. Mari knew that all hope for her daughter’s escape had died with Zahra.

Submerging into fresh despair, she gripped Anna’s eyes with her own. “Being a woman in this world is a curse,” she sobbed. “Do you hear me?” Mari shook her head against the tears. “My poor daughter,” she wailed. “I wish you had never been born!”

Anna’s heart pounded in her ears.

Mari read the hurt and confusion in her daughter’s face and regretted that she had not held her tongue. “Never mind,” she said, wiping her eyes with the backs of her wrists. “Your mother is tired. I am speaking foolishness. Go collect wood. Your father will be home soon and he will be angry if the fire is out.”

When Yoseph returned, he found Mari kneeling over the flames, boiling water for his tea. He said nothing as Anna scurried to remove his sandals. He tried to be grateful for the end of his journey, but found himself disgusted by the stink of their animals. His father’s words banged inside his head: “A son who lives in a manger! Who begs for his bread!”

Mari set a cup in front of her husband. She could feel the anger lurking within him and knew to be silent. She poured his tea and waited patiently as he took his first sip. As soon as the liquid touched his lips, he spat it violently across the room. “What is this?!”

“Forgive me,” Mari whispered. “It is a remedy for your hands. I thought—”

“You need not think,” Yoseph hissed. “Make me a fresh cup.”

Mari bent to gather the few remaining coals. She could feel Yoseph’s eyes riveted to her back. Daring her to look up. Seeking a reason to attack.

Yoseph watched his wife grovel before the fire. His barren wife. The cause of his shame. Looking her over, he was struck by how quickly her beauty had faded. Like everything else, she had become a burden. Her brewing of the strange tea made him suspect that she was returning to the ways of her family. To their evil and godless rituals.

Had he not heard her, just the other day, humming one of their peculiar melodies?

When he had taken her as his wife, he had made her forswear the beliefs of her childhood and embrace the Lord as her only God.