Dawn of Grace — Carol McLeod Ministries

A Note from Carol: One of the greatest joys of my ministry is celebrating voices that bring God’s truth to life through story and Scripture. Today, I’m honored to share this blog space with Jill Eileen Smith. Jill is a masterful storyteller and beloved author whose biblical fiction transports readers into the lives of women in the Bible with depth, compassion, and authenticity. Through meticulous research and powerful prose, Jill invites us to see familiar stories in fresh ways, reminding us that God sees, values, and uses women in profound ways—then and now. If you’ve ever longed to connect more deeply with the women of Scripture or to understand how God weaves redemption into even the most broken places, Jill’s words will stir your heart and deepen your faith. Please enjoy the first chapter of Jill’s incredible book, Dawn of Grace: Historical Biblical Fiction New Testament Story of Mary Magdalene for Fans of The Chosen

AD 26

The Hebrew letter aleph formed in the clay beneath my stylus. I smiled, at last happy with the result. My father’s scribe would be pleased. I studied the dappled light coming through the high windows in the small room where I worked. I dug my feet into the Persian rug. One more word and I would be done for the day. At least as far as I was concerned.

“Why do you need to learn to read, Mary?” Susanna often asked me. While she was busy learning to spin and weave and stitch patterns on cloth, I was stuck in a dismal room, stylus in hand, pressing Hebrew letters into clay.

“My abba wants me to learn how to take over for him one day when he goes the way of the earth.” Though I said the words, I never allowed myself to dwell on them. I had already lost my ima and Savta Hedia. I was certain Abba resented and blamed me for Ima’s death, but how could an infant cause someone to die? I never thought it fair to be blamed for such a thing.

Worse, my father never tried to make up for the loss of my mother. I needed a woman who loved me, and all I had was my servant Darrah—an old woman, in my opinion—who made sure I was fed and had clothes to wear but never gave me the affection I craved.

I held the stylus over the clay, carved the letters for “Shalom,” and pouted. Why couldn’t Abba love me? Whenever I tried to embrace him, he took hold of my shoulders and gently stepped back. If I tried to kiss him, he turned his head, refusing the greeting he accepted from others.

A knot formed in my middle as I thought about things I was not able to forget. I set the stylus on the table and pushed away. I didn’t want to be here. I tiptoed to the door, opened it, checked the hall for servants, and, finding it empty, slipped out of the room.

I walked on silent feet down the stairs, aware of every sound. No one would miss me once I was gone, I reasoned. No one cared what I did, so why should I sit in that room all day?

I ran to the back door to avoid being noticed and entered the cook’s herb garden. Scents of rosemary, thyme, basil, and cardamom filled my nostrils. I loved the various gardens my father kept. My stomach rumbled, longing for a piece of Chana’s basil bread, but I didn’t want to risk being seen. So I hurried away from the house to the gates of the estate.

I slid past the iron bars meant to add a layer of protection to the grounds. I think they were meant more to keep me in than to keep people out, but maybe that was because Darrah allowed me so little freedom. My father didn’t care.

I took the back streets to Susanna’s house and entered her father’s equally imposing gates and walls encompassing his estate. Our fathers were wealthy in comparison to everyone else, except for the religious leaders and Romans who lived nearby. I should count myself privileged, Darrah said often enough, but I didn’t. I wanted a normal family, even a poor one where love was, rather than a wealthy one without it.

I sighed, passed through Susanna’s gardens, and knocked on the back door.

Susanna exited quickly, grabbed my hand, and pulled me away from the cooking rooms to the far edge of the wall.

“Why are we running?” I asked when we finally stopped where the gardens ended and trees bordered the brick enclosure. The house was on a rise, but the wall ran along the creek that bordered their land.

“I have news.” Susanna placed her hand on the bricks and caught her breath. “I’m glad you came.”

“I couldn’t stay in the learning room one more moment. Besides, if they check on me, they never ask where I’ve been. Only Darrah gets upset if she catches me, but she’s a servant.” I shrugged. “I don’t have to listen to her.”

“That’s all going to change soon.” Susanna’s dark eyes gleamed. “I have a secret.” She laughed.

I smacked her arm. “Tell me!”

She laughed again. “My father and Marcus are coming to your house tonight. They are going to ask your father to sign the ketubah and make their agreement official.” She jumped up and held her hands to her heart. She loved knowing things before I did. “Isn’t it wonderful? We’ll be sisters!”

I stared at her. “I’m only thirteen. I can’t marry yet.” It was no secret between us that I was not a woman yet, but no doubt Marcus didn’t know that because most young women my age were nubile. He would expect to be able to wed soon.

“You will no doubt be able to in a year. The wedding won’t happen before then, and besides, you don’t have a choice.” Susanna lifted her chin.

“I can say no.” Defiance rose within me. I crossed my arms over my flat chest.

“Mary. Your father promised you to Marcus when you were born, and our fathers have been friends forever. He’s not going to let you say no.” She gave me the knowing smile I detested. “Besides, Marcus likes you. And he can’t wait forever. He’s nearly twenty!”

“Far too old for me,” I insisted. But men often waited for marriage, while women married as soon as they were able to bear children.

“Be glad he isn’t an old widower,” Susanna said.

I hated when she was right. There were several old widowers in Magdala, and my father might have promised me to any one of them in my early childhood. Marcus was the right age to protect me and not make me a widow before any sons I had could care for me. On the other hand, he was Susanna’s brother. I would never love him like that.

“Just be prepared because your father might ask you. Make sure you say yes.” Susanna touched my arm. “The spirits told me this is a good thing, Mary. Trust me.”

I pulled away from her and searched her face. I wrapped my arms about me, suddenly wary of the wild gleam in her dark eyes. “You shouldn’t listen to them. Why did you ever let them in?”

Susanna’s interest in idols and spirits had never waned. Not since the day she had introduced me to one when we were eight. The spirits made her unclean, according to the rabbi, but she hid her uncleanness well.

“You know why, Mary. They tell me things no one else knows. They are powerful. They protect me . . .” Her voice dropped off.

Susanna had been hurt by a friend of her father’s when she was seven. I shuddered at the memory of her tears. The man had made her promise not to tell anyone, but she had told me. I’d never forgotten, and I was glad Barukh, my father’s scribe, and the other men my father dealt with paid me little mind.

I didn’t want what Susanna had, even if the spirits did make her feel she had some kind of power over her circumstances. I didn’t want to have that need.

“Please tell me you’ll say yes,” Susanna pleaded, snatching my hand between both of hers and squeezing.

I yanked my hand back, but her grip held. “You’re hurting me.”

She released me. “I’m sorry. I just want you to agree.”

I looked beyond her. I loved Susanna despite the spirits. And I liked Marcus. “I guess so,” I said at last. “I don’t suppose there is anyone else.”

“And you have to marry.”

I nodded. Most women married. The few who were unmarried had legitimate, lucrative businesses or were prostitutes. Though I didn’t understand what that word meant, I understood Darrah, who had warned me it wasn’t a good word or a good thing to be.

“I’ll say yes,” I said. Susanna stepped closer as if to hug me, but I moved back and held up a hand. “If they ask me. I have to go home.”

She glanced at the sun’s place in the sky. “You should wear your best robe.”

I laughed, though it sounded strange to my ears. The realization that Susanna was stronger, truly stronger than I, and we would one day live under the same roof—unless she married first—unsettled me. “It’s a betrothal, not a wedding. Besides, my father might not ask me to come into the room when they sign the ketubah.”

“You should be there in case.” Susanna motioned for me to follow her along the creek, past the gardens, and toward the gate. “Don’t mess this up, Mary.”

Her warning added to my wariness as I walked away, worried. How could I mess up something over which I had no control?

I did not hurry back to my father’s property, despite Susanna’s urging. I shook out my hand and rubbed it where it still ached from her hold. If Susanna could hurt me so easily for something so insignificant, what else could she do—might she do—to me if I didn’t comply with her wishes?

I’d gone to visit her to have some fun. I didn’t want to learn letters in Hebrew or talk about marriage or think about her spirits. I also didn’t want to go home. What I really wanted, I didn’t have. I wanted someone to love me. But I highly doubted Marcus was my answer to that longing.

****

I wandered about my father’s gardens later in the afternoon. I had not returned to studying Hebrew, nor had I gone into the house, but there was no place to go without Susanna. I didn’t feel like walking along the Sea of Galilee alone, and I had no money to purchase anything at the shops in the market. I suppose it should have troubled me that I had no friends except Susanna, but none of my father’s friends had daughters my age.

I sat on a bench beneath the shade of an almond tree and picked at the petals of a nearby poppy plant. The sun angled toward the west, creating shadows along the walk.

“Mary! Mary? Where are you?” Darrah called from inside the house.

I didn’t want to answer her. I didn’t want her to tell me about my father’s plans for me this night.

“Mary!”

I stood but took my time, kicking stones along the path toward the house. I opened the back door, removed my sandals, dipped my feet into the water bowl meant for feet washing, then rubbed them on a towel. I moved toward the main area of the house.

“I’m here, Darrah,” I called, catching a glimpse of her on the floor above me, no doubt about to check the room where I should have been.

She swung around and came down the stairs to meet me. She brushed stray strands of hair from my face. “Where have you been, child? I’ve been looking for you.”

“I was in the garden. I’m here now. What do you want?” I didn’t mean to sound irritated, but nothing had gone right this day. It hadn’t helped that I’d awakened in an unhappy mood.

Darrah placed her hands on her hips and tsked. “Really, child, you need to listen better and do the things your father asks of you. He doesn’t require much. You should work to please him.”

I studied my feet. I almost asked why but held my tongue. “Is there something you need of me?” I looked up at her.

Darrah lowered her arms and touched my cheek in a kind gesture. “We need to get you fed and cleaned up. You are having visitors tonight.”

“Who?” I wanted to confirm Susanna’s words. I still hoped she was wrong.

“Doron is coming with his son Marcus. They are going to sign the ketubah for your hand in marriage to Marcus.” Darrah gave me a rare smile. “He is a good man. You will be well cared for.”

I nodded, but hearing it confirmed did nothing for me. “Why does my father want this so soon? Marcus is old!” I pouted, knowing Darrah would not appreciate my attitude.

She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Come. I’ve had Elazar warm the water for you. After you are washed and dressed, you can eat. I don’t want you looking like you’ve rolled in the dirt when they come.”

Why hadn’t Darrah answered my question? I glared at her as I followed her into the small room off the cooking area where I bathed. It wasn’t a mikvah but similar. My father had installed it for my ima, though we all used it.

I let Darrah help me, allowing her to wash my long dark hair. It had never been cut, so it fell to my waist, though most of the time I kept it tied up. It took hours to dry, but we had time.

When I was cleaned and dressed, I reclined on the cushions and ate the food Chana set before me. No one ate with me, as the servants ate at a different time and my father never joined me. I hated the loneliness. What would it be like to be married? Would I share meals with Marcus, or would he be like my father and keep me at a distance? Would he expect me to do things Susanna had learned, like weave and spin and stitch patterns on cloth?

A knock sounded on the great door in the center of the house, jolting me out of my thoughts. Voices I recognized drifted to me. So, Susanna and Darrah were right. The men spoke their greetings, but as their footsteps echoed on the tile floors and they entered the room where my father conducted business for his land holdings, I shuddered.

Darrah poked her head into the dining area, where I sat picking at a fresh date. “They’re here.”

“Yes.” I avoided her gaze. “Do you think they will want me to join them?”

She moved into the room. “Maybe at some point. They will work out the conditions of the agreement for the ketubah. Barukh will write them down, and they will press their seals onto the goatskin. Then they might call you.”

“So they won’t ask me if I want this.” I closed my eyes, wishing all of this would go away.

“Your father is going to Rome on business in a few months. He wants to secure your future before he goes.” She came and knelt beside me. “I realize it’s not what you want, child.” She touched my chin, coaxing me to look at her.

A rush of emotion rose within me, and my eyes filled with tears. I blinked, embarrassed.

“Don’t fear, Mary. I will be with you until the wedding, and I will stay on afterward if you want me to.”

“I want you to,” I said, surprised at how much I needed her. I didn’t want to enter Marcus’s home without her, even with Susanna and their mother there.

“Marcus may want me to stay here.” Darrah looked beyond me and let her hand fall to her side. “But he will understand your need of me.”

I would have to obey Marcus once we were wed. I had no idea if he would be kind to me or not. He’d acted like an older brother on the few occasions I’d been with him, but most of the time he left me alone with Susanna. Why did he want me to be his wife?

“Mary?” My father’s voice came from across the house. “Come here.”

I jumped up from the cushion and smoothed my robe, then looked at Darrah. “What do I do?”

“Whatever he asks of you.” Darrah patted my shoulder. “Come along.”

She walked with me to the room where the men sat on chairs in a circle. Barukh sat near the wall at a table, a piece of leather stretched over it.

“Mary.” My father motioned me toward him. “Doron has come with Marcus because Marcus is ready to seal your betrothal. I have stipulated he must maintain you for five years. You will wed about a year from now.”

I gave my father a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

“If you should be unpleasing to Marcus, he may not divorce you for five years.” My father’s brows drew down. “Make sure that you do not disappoint him, my daughter.”

I swallowed. “I won’t, Abba.”

Rabbis taught that a man could divorce his wife if he didn’t like the way she cooked his food. It seemed so wrong, even to my young heart. But no one disagreed with it, so I should have been grateful my father wanted me to be protected until I was old enough to take over his estate should something happen to him.

“And my estate will remain yours in the event of my death. It is your inheritance,” he said, jolting me.

I couldn’t speak, so I nodded my understanding. I didn’t want my father to die. He was all I had.

“Are you ready to set your seal to the ketubah?” my father asked Doron.

“Yes.” Doron and Marcus stood, then Doron and my father moved to the table, took their seals, and pressed them into the leather.

They hadn’t asked me if I wanted this. I stole a glance at Marcus, who looked at me with interest. Why did he want someone so much younger than he was?

But my father was wealthy, as was his. Wealthy people married people of like means. I supposed Marcus didn’t have many options in Magdala, though there were other cities nearby where he might have found a better bride.

I dared a look into his eyes.

He smiled at me. A warm, inviting smile.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Marcus liked me well enough to live with me as his wife. So be it.

He stepped forward and placed a ring of gold with small rubies on my first finger. “Behold, by this ring you are consecrated to me as my wife according to the laws of Moses and Israel.” Then he draped a finely woven shawl over my head, the golden threads sparkling in the lamplight.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat at his gentle perusal. I could not hold his gaze, though I knew this giving of gifts, the mohar, was part of our custom. Marcus’s gifts were a show of his father’s wealth.

I glanced from the ring dazzling on my finger to the spark of delight in his eyes. I smiled. This would be a good marriage.

When my father dismissed me, I left the room with a lighter heart. In any case, I had a year to prepare. Until then, I didn’t have to think about it again.

Have you ever wondered about what Mary Magdalene might have been like? Join Carol McLeod on today’s episode for a rich conversation with author Jill Eileen Smith, whose most recent book is titled ‘Dawn of Grace: Mary Magdalene’s Story’. Jill is the bestselling and award-winning author of many biblical novels, including her first series The Wives of King David. After twenty years of closed doors, she has now published 24 books, fiction and non-fiction, and had one of those books optioned for film. She loves Jesus and His Word and all things related to learning more about the culture and times of the people of the Book, particularly the women, whom God has immortalized there.

Listen in to learn about Jill and her exploration of Mary Magdalene’s story! Order Dawn of Grace: (Historical Biblical Fiction New Testament Story of Mary Magdalene) at https://a.co/d/9Yy4wMM