Anna took a step back, afraid he had seen through her disguise. To her relief, he merely grunted and resumed his playing.

She then turned to rejoin Peter. But he was gone. She ran from vendor to vendor, but could not find him. Her searching led her back to the stall where the mother and daughter were spinning yarn. All about them rose tall stacks of folded fabrics. Some of the material was coarse and pale, some glistened with a fine sheen and rich color. A crowd of women filled the stall. They shouted prices and insults.

Anna slipped inside and ran her hand over a bolt of thick fabric.

“That would make a fine shepherd’s tunic,” a woman’s voice said. It was the mother. She lifted the fabric to Anna’s shoulders and began sizing her up. Twists of wool, like fluffy bracelets, rolled up the woman’s forearms. A wooden spool, on which she was winding the fluff into yarn, dangled at her wrist.

“How old are you? Ten or eleven?” she guessed. Without waiting for an answer, she said, “You are about my son’s size. Wait here.” She disappeared between the stacks. Anna looked at the other women. They averted their gaze, out of respect, and continued browsing in silence. Anna noticed their reaction and felt a sense of power rush through her.

The mother returned with a rugged tunic folded over her arm. The material was tough but pleasing to the touch. It had never been worn. “Put this on,” she said.

“Oh no,” Anna said, stepping away, the rush of her disguise suddenly deflating. “I could not.”

The mother looked the boy up and down. “Bashful, are you?” She put the tunic in Anna’s arms and motioned toward the fabric wall. “You can go behind there. Though I doubt you have anything we have not seen!”

Blushing, Anna stepped behind the wall. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears.

Everyone thinks I am a boy. Even the women!

It was one thing not to have the shepherds notice, but entirely another to have her own kind equally deceived.

Even more surprising than the potency of her disguise was how good it was beginning to feel. And how natural.

With haste she removed her clothes and slipped the tunic over her head. The weight of the material rooted her body. When she re-emerged, the other women struggled to avert their gazes, but could not.

“Great Moses!” the mother said. “How handsome you are!”

Anna’s cheeks grew warm. Her green eyes sparkled.

Peter burst into the stall waving a hand-carved flute. “Look what I bought!” he cheered. He then froze, captivated by his friend’s transformation.

“Wait,” the mother insisted and went to retrieve a square of polished tin that she used as a mirror. Anna held the reflective metal at arm’s length and angled it up and down.

“Is it not a handsome tunic?” the mother asked Peter.