Leaning forward, Yoseph began to chant. His voice took on a mournful hue as he recited his morning prayers. “Blessed are you, O Lord our God, King of All, who rules over us with a mighty hand,” he intoned, his voice torn with ache. “May we, your sinful children, learn to serve your glory. Amen.”

Anna and her mother kept their heads bowed until Yoseph was finished. They then waited patiently for him to take the first bite before helping themselves.

Yoseph lifted a disk of flatbread and tore off a ragged piece.

No one spoke.

After several minutes, Yoseph’s eyes cut to his daughter. He noticed that she was not eating. “Daughter,” he said, “what do you think of the cradle I have made for your brother?”

Both Anna and her mother started at his words. It was rare for Yoseph to speak to his daughter. Thrilled by his unexpected attentions, Anna wriggled with excitement. “You are the best carpenter in the village, Father!” she spouted. “No one could make a more beautiful cradle than you!” She glanced up, hoping her bold statement had pleased him. Her heart swelled when he chuckled lightly.

“But, Father?” she said, emboldened by his response. “Now that you have finished the cradle, what will you make for me?”

Mari froze at her daughter’s insolence.

Yoseph reached over and patted Anna on the head. Three rough taps. “I have made a brother for you,” he said. “For what more could you possibly wish?”

Anna’s eyebrows crinkled.

She did not want a brother. What good would that do her? He would just be another person she would have to share her parents with. And her meals!

“But—” she tried.

Yoseph tossed a hand into the air. “Be patient, daughter,” he said. “And someday soon, God willing, you will be a wife. Then your husband can make cradles for your sons.”

Mari smiled at Yoseph’s words but threw a sideways glance at her daughter. Seeing her about to ask another question, Mari snapped, “Anna! Go to the fire and bake more flatbread. Your father’s joy has clearly increased his appetite.”

Though Anna always obeyed her mother’s orders, this time she delayed. Feeling reluctant to step away from her father’s notice.

Seeing Anna hesitate, Mari swatted her knee. “Go now,” she urged.

A few minutes passed before Yoseph spoke again. His words were suddenly serious in tone. “Have you thought about what I said last night?” he asked.

“About what, dear husband?”

“About the choice of midwife.”

Mari sat back and put a hand on her belly. “Yes,” she said, “I have.”

“And what have you thought?” He dipped his bread into the salted oil.

Mari drew a deep breath as if knowing her words would not be welcome. “I want Zahra to deliver our son,” she said.

Yoseph interlaced his fingers beneath his chin. “I see.”

Mari said nothing further, reasoning that silence would be more acceptable than words.