She carefully unrolled the parchment, then left it resting on the small, flat rock at her side while watching the sun slowly rise above the horizon. It was such a serenely, beautiful day, and all around tiny birds were chirping merrily.
Now I will step out of the picture and let you quietly read over Mary'am's shoulder.
Dear Diary;
I am getting a little rounder every day. Only I can tell but soon the secret will be out.
While I write this Hana is sleepily getting dressed, and when she is ready we need to fill the water jugs at the well.
While mothers are waiting to fill their vessels, I often gather the restless little ones around me for a story. It is so enjoyable! Will the mothers who used to be so friendly, snatch their children away from me after I show? Will they treat me as if I am unclean, and have leprosy? Will I ever again hear Hadassah or Damaris lisp in their trilling voices, “Mary’am, Mary’am, tell us a story! Tell us a story! You are the bestest story teller!” Isaiah and Titus used to run up also, an' we would sit in the shade of the old sycamore tree. Even the clusters of aant’at, hushed their banter sometimes, although I can tell that some pretend not to listen!
I really love telling the story of Ruth, but of course, it does not appeal to the boys. I am so glad she is part of my lineage!
I wonder how Ruth would have felt if she was carrying the secret I am carrying. My, I would love to talk with her; I think she would so understanding.
