Mary had not understood. What had happened? How did her friend suddenly turn "bad?" How could she have run away with this boy and leave her family to grieve? Three days later she came home alone, afraid and ashamed. Her lover had returned the day before with a good story to tell his friends. He would be admired now. He would be thought manly--experienced. To his father, of course, he told of how she had seduced him. He was a good boy from a good family, his father a priest. So the boy would not suffer. No punishment greater than a sacrifice offered. With that, it would be over. "Why is it," thought Mary, remembering this event years later, "that when a man has his way with a girl, he is thought manly, but when a girl does it, she is a harlot?"

Who would throw the first stone? This honor naturally fell to the one who had been violated. Since he was a mere boy, his father took stone in hand, a broken, jagged piece of thick pottery. But instead of casting the piece himself, the older man thought for a moment and then handed it to his son. This confused the boy, frightening him. The eyes of his father-priest, however, were demanding, unforgiving. His son looked at Zephorah weeping in the street where she had been harshly thrown, her hair filthy with dust, her eyes streaming dark tears, pleading. Somewhere in the back of the crowd which stood more than ten deep, a mother screamed, "She is but a child!" The eyes of the boy's father prevailed. With a force strengthened by fear, his hand traced the arc. The stone struck between the eyes just above the nose. Blood spurted. Zephorah fell. Seconds later, dozens of stones rained on the girl. A heavy stone struck her in the head, mercifully crushing her skull. The boy watched. Someday, he would be a priest himself.

The basket fell from her hands as Mary shuddered, remembering the brutal death of her friend. Her mother had reacted to the news of her encounter with the angel in disbelief. She was now two weeks late and the questions were tense and fearful. When she told her mother that she had been chosen by God, she was met with anger and tears; but how could a mother be expected to understand a thing like this? "And that is not all, Mother." Mary continued tearfully, "The angel said that Elizabeth is also with child--and she is old!"

Her mother looked at her, stunned. "Hush, child! We do not speak of such things." Mary's mother thought, How could she have known? My cousin has been in seclusion for more than six months. Elizabeth had not publicly announced her condition. Nine months is a long time to wait for a promise. Anything could happen. Only trusted friends and relatives knew. Of course, her mother knew of the special circumstances of her cousin's pregnancy. But Mary could not possibly know, unless . . ? As the truthfulness of her daughter's claims found credence in her heart, she reached for the child and held her to her breast. "You shall not be judged, my lamb. No indeed," she held her tighter, smiling through wet diamonds, "you shall not be judged."

Abruptly she ended the embrace and held her daughter tightly by the shoulders as if she might escape. Mary's eyes widened. "You must go to her!" With urgency. "Yes! That is the thing to do! You must go to her now. I will get your things." Instantly her mother began preparing Mary's things. She continued talking, instructing, "You're not to worry about anything. You will be safe there. You will be in a priest's own house!" Words cascaded. "I'll deal with your father--and Joseph. I'll see to them both!" Her mother was now in command. "Hurry!"

Mary, dumfounded at her mother's actions, and frightened.

In a letter to her cousin Elizabeth, Mary's mother wrote:

My Dear Cousin,

Please be kind to accept my daughter into your home. She is with child . . .

The letter explained all that Mary's mother knew, all that her daughter had revealed. The dispatch-bearer left ahead of Mary and would reach the house of Zechariah well before the girl's entourage. Elizabeth would be waiting, anticipating her arrival.

The trip took almost a week and the path, as always, arduous and chafing. Down into the Esdraelon Plain, across the Jordan fords to avoid Samaria, down the eastern bank of the river, crossing again at Jericho, the climb back up to and through Jerusalem and out into the Judean hill-country until the house of Zechariah came into view. The strain of the trip evaporated as hopeful expectations rose in Mary. Barely within hearing, she began shouting "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

At first, the sound was as faint as that of a distant bird. Then at last, she clearly discerned her name, "Elizabeth!" in a girl-child's voice. The swelling in her stomach visibly moved. Her body responded in an enchanting sensate awareness of something rich and full and beautiful. Ecstasy seized her. When at last her aged eyes saw her young cousin she shouted. "Oh, Mary! How blessed you are among all women! And blessed is the child you are to bear! The two women met and embraced. Tears of consummate joy for Elizabeth. Tears of relief and comfort for Mary. An old woman and a child. A woman long past childbearing yet with child, and a woman who has not known a man also with child. Wondrous enceinte!

Elizabeth took Mary's face in her hands and said, "And how is it permitted me that the mother of my Lord should come to me? Hm?" Mary's eyes glistened. "Did you know that the moment I heard your voice the babe within me leaped for joy?" She paused to let the words have their effect. "Oh my child, your mother has revealed to me all that has happened to you. I am so proud of you for believing the things that were told to you by the Lord. You are so richly and deservedly blessed!"

Mary at last found her speech, "Cousin Elizabeth!" Letting her hands meet in front of her, the girl-child erupted, "My heart is exploding!" A not un-butterfly-like pirouette. She flounced to her knees. "Oh how I love the Lord! Oh God my Savior, how my spirit soars!" Everything was an exclamation. "He's chosen me, Elizabeth! Me! I am nobody! I am not a princess! I am poor. How is it that he has chosen me!? Elizabeth!" She reached for the older woman embracing her vigorously, "Elizabeth, the angel told me that from this time forth all generations will call me blessed! Can you imagine? God has done a great thing to me! Holy is his Name!"

Beyond her understanding of historical and national events and far beyond her adolescent comprehension, using her voice, her lips, the Spirit within her exulted in jubilant song . . .