Song of the Magdalene by Donna Jo Napoli

rings, necklaces, earrings. I wore no jewelry. So all I had to doff was my veil, my shift, my underclothes, and sandals. I entered the water covered only with the goose bumps that came from anticipation. I immersed myself deep, until the very tips of my long loose hair finally surrendered their attachment to the surface of the water and sank below with the rest of me. I hurried home feeling light and happy and grateful just for being alive.
    During the days my blood flowed, I did not walk around town or in the valley with Abraham. I read beside him in the house. But when I came home from the mikvah every month, I gathered Abraham into his cart and we went about our way until the next blood came. Life had rhythm.
    Only once was this happy rhythm interrupted. Abraham had taken an interest in carpentry. There were two furniture makers in town, Caleb and Shiphrah’s husband Jacob. Jacob had the larger shop, large enough for Abraham and me to find a spot in a corner where we could sit and watch.
    Jacob was a successful businessman. Maybe more successful than Father. Shiphrah’s arms were spangled with jewelry. And three full-grown men were employed as helpers in Jacob’s shop. People said that if you wanted something special, if you had a task that required true skill, then Jacob’s was the only shop to go to.
    We sat silent as the workers made everything from an infant’s cradle to a roof parapet. Abraham watched attentively and later he would explain to me why they’d cut the notch just so or what made them reject one piece of wood in favor of another. He delighted in understanding the process.
    Jacob’s shop became our first stop of the day. And it started our day right, until the morning when Jacob came into the shop late. His face wasruddy with excitement and he looked angry. I had heard the workers talk amongst themselves before of Jacob’s bad days. I should have remembered their words then.
    Jacob’s helpers had already started in on the tasks they’d been working on the day before. They hardly looked up when he entered. In retrospect it was clear they didn’t want to acknowledge his mood and thus, perhaps, fan his anger. There were clues all around me, if only I had given them their due, for Jacob never forgave me that day’s error.
    Jacob stomped over to the pieces of wood for the cabinet he was building. He picked up a board and set it on a table. He measured it with a cubit and prepared to cut.
    Abraham quickly grabbed my sleeve. I leaned my ear close to his lips. He whispered, “Stop him, Miriam. He’s used the wrong measurement.”
    I’d never spoken to Jacob before. A woman didn’t address a man needlessly outside the home, even a man who knew her husband or father, as Jacob knew mine. But this wasn’t needless. I had to speak before Jacob cut the boardthrough and wasted it. I cleared my throat. “May I speak?”
    All four men looked at me, their faces amazed.
    I flushed behind my veil and spoke loudly. “Are you sure that’s the right measurement?”
    Jacob put down his tool and crossed his arms at the chest. “What did you say?” His face was grim.
    I panicked. I leaned toward Abraham. “Are you sure?”
    â€œThat piece is to go into the back,” hissed Abraham in my ear. “It has to be longer.”
    â€œIsn’t that the piece for the back?” I pointed. “Shouldn’t it be longer?”
    â€œThat’s right.” One of the helpers nodded. “The cripple told her.”
    Jacob spun around and faced his helper. For a moment I thought they would fight. Over what? What offense had Jacob taken? But I didn’t wait to find out. I tugged on Abraham and got him into his cart.
    Jacob turned back to us. “No idiot can come in here and tell me what to do. Get out!” He was shouting now. “Out!” He lifted his thick arm in threat. But we were already backing out the