{"product_id":"the-handmaid-and-the-carpenter-isbn-9780345505910","title":"The Handmaid and the Carpenter","description":"This wonderful novel transports us to Nazareth in biblical times, where we meet Mary and Joseph–and understand them as never before: young, in love, and suddenly faced with an unexpected pregnancy. Aided by a great and abiding love, they endure challenges to their relationship as well as threats to their lives as they come to terms with the mysterious circumstances surrounding the birth of their child, Jesus. For Mary, the pregnancy is a divine miracle and a privilege. For Joseph, it is an ongoing test of his faith–in his wife as well as in his God. Exquisitely written and imbued with emotional truth and richness of detail, \u003ci\u003eThe Handmaid and the Carpenter \u003c\/i\u003eexplores lives touched profoundly by miracles large and small.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eThe Handmaid and the Carpenter\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The oldest story ever told becomes fresh, even modern. [Grade:] A.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e–Entertainment Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Poetic, reflective, and intricate . . . There is a crystalline humanity, a logical vulnerability in [Elizabeth] Berg’s imaginative interpretation [that] brings novel resplendence to a familiar story.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e–Booklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sweetly lyrical and yet movingly realistic.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e–New York Daily News\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Berg] movingly takes the story of the least ordinary couple in history, and by respectfully evoking the rhythms and rituals of \u003cbr\u003edaily life, makes them more human, yet no less transcendent.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e–Richmond Times-Dispatch\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Imaginative and compelling.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e–Star Ledger\u003c\/i\u003eElizabeth Berg is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of many novels, including \u003ci\u003eWe Are All Welcome Here\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Year of Pleasures\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Art of Mending, Say When, True to Form, Never Change, \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eOpen House,\u003c\/i\u003e which was an Oprah’s Book Club selection in 2000. \u003ci\u003eDurable Goods\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eJoy School \u003c\/i\u003ewere selected as ALA Best Books of the Year, and Talk Before Sleep was short-listed for the ABBY Award in 1996. The winner of the 1997 New England Booksellers Award for her body of work, Berg is also the author of a nonfiction work,\u003ci\u003e Escaping into the Open: The Art of Writing True.\u003c\/i\u003e She lives in Chicago.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eTo schedule a speaking engagement, please contact American Program Bureau\u003c\/i\u003e at \u003cu\u003ewww.apbspeakers.com\u003c\/u\u003e  chapter one\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Nazareth\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    january, 4 b.c.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Joseph\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Outside, a thunderstorm raged. a great wind frightened the animals and   bent the trees low to the ground, shaking their leaves almost off their   branches. But inside the house of just-married Simon and Esther, there   was light and laughter. A long table covered with a striped cloth was   pushed up close to the wall, and it was laden with earthenware platters   decorated by palm fronds and piled high with eggplant and olives, with   spit-roasted beef and lamb and fish, with rounds of flatbread, with   grapes and oranges and figs and sweet cakes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Beneath the table, sixteen-year-old Joseph sat cross-legged in silence,   watching sandals and ankles and hems of tunics go by. No one had seen   him—he was almost totally obscured by the tablecloth—and he enjoyed the   anonymity. He was of course a man now, but he could not resist on   occasion returning to the pleasures of boyhood. This was one such   pleasure: to sit hidden and watch the elders as they drank ever more   wine and acted ever more foolish. In the corner, he saw old Samuel   weaving as he stood with his feet far apart, trying to focus on the   face before him. Wine had sloshed from his wooden cup to dribble down   his mantle. “You will soon be on the floor,” Joseph muttered, and was   startled to hear a voice say, “I am surprised he is not already.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Joseph turned to see a girl squatting just behind him. “You have found   the seat of honor,” she said. “May I join you here?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    There was something familiar about her. “We are known to each other?”   he asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She nodded. “You have seen me many times. And you spoke to me when last   you saw me. You came to the well when I was there last summer. I was   gathering water with my mother; you were passing by with your father,   Jacob.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Your memory serves you well. And I remember now, also. You are called   Mary.” She was a wonder to behold, with her black curls escaped from   her braid, her cheeks flushed dusky rose, her gaze so direct and yet   mysterious. She tucked her hair behind her ears, and he saw the lines   of her high cheekbones beginning to assert themselves. Her lips were   full and pink. He was suddenly dry-mouthed, his heart knocking about in   his chest like a caged animal wild to be released.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Yes, I am Mary,” she said. “And you are called Joseph.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    And her voice! Low and musical, laughlike. The utter completeness of   her beauty was astonishing; it made for a rush of emotion in him so   strong it felt like anger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “You have . . . grown,” he told her, and his voice cracked, causing him   to blush to the center of his soul.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She appeared not to notice but instead stared calmly into his eyes.   “And you also.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “How old are you?” he asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Newly thirteen. And you?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Seventeen in two days.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    They regarded each other carefully, and then he ducked down and pointed   to the people before him who had joined hands and made a circle to   dance. They whooped and called out to one another, stamped their feet,   threw their heads back and laughed. “They rejoice so!” Joseph said,   caught between wanting to admire them and to ridicule them. “It is as   though King Herod has died and the Messiah has come, both together!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She came closer and peered from beneath the cloth to see the dancers,   then sat next to Joseph. “It makes me happy, their happiness,” she   said, and there was in her\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    simple statement a truth that made him ashamed of his\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    ambivalence.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Of course it makes me glad as well,” he said. What was it that she   smelled of? It was a scent of air and water, of salt and bread, of the   white blossoms that flowered on the olive branches. Of apricots and   nuts. Of earth. He felt himself growing dizzy. He leaned back onto his   elbows and looked at her. “Where are you from?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She cocked her head, puzzled. “Nazareth.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “No,” he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She raised an eyebrow. “No?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He shook his head. “No.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I am from Nazareth! Unless you mean . . . ah. I was born in Sepphoris,   but I came to Nazareth when I was just—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “No,” he said yet again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She stared at him, then lowered her eyes. “I believe you must know of   my extraordinary circumstances.” She looked up again. “Is that what you   mean to say?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He shrugged. “Perhaps.” He didn’t know what he was saying. The girl   confused and unsettled him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She smiled, a warm, rich thing, full of its own intention—he had never   seen such a smile. But then her face grew serious. “Behold; by a way   known only unto you and God, you have come to know of my great secret,   of my strange beginnings. I have never spoken of this to anyone, nor   have my parents. But I will reveal all to you if you promise never to   tell another. Will you promise?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He smiled uncertainly. She remained somber-faced and did not speak,   waiting for him to agree to what she had asked. “I promise,” he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She nodded and resettled herself, sitting back on her heels and again   anchoring her hair behind her ears. “So be it. We have agreed that this   will be known only to you and to my parents, now and forever, unto the   end of the earth.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Yes.” His chest inflated with his importance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She leaned in closer and spoke quietly. “I was found beneath a date   palm tree at the edge of the great Plain of Esdraelon. I was wrapped in   cloth spun of gold, wearing a crown of jasmine flowers. Beside me were   gifts of incense and linens, of spices and jewels, left for the one who   would take me unto herself and raise me as her own.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He tried not to laugh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Ah,” she said. “I see that you cannot believe. You must not feel   ashamed. It takes a man of rare qualities to—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I believe,” he said. “I do! I believe!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Now she laughed. “Then you have believed a lie. But the circumstances   of my birth are yet more miraculous than what I have told you. My   mother, Anne, was barren; but late in her life, an angel appeared   before her and said—” Mary stopped and turned her head in the direction   of a voice calling her name. Her high brow, her strong nose. “I must   go,” she told him, pulling up her head covering and starting to crawl   away from him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He put his hand on her back. “Wait!” When Mary turned to him, he found   himself frustratingly wordless.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Again, they heard her name being called, more insistently this time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I must go!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Until the next time!” he managed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She rose too quickly and knocked her head against the underside of the   table, then turned back to Joseph, giggling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He did not smile. He would kill the table, for hurting her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He lay down on his stomach to watch her walk across the room. Her gait   was slow and easy. She moved with her back straight and her head high,   and her bearing suggested something beyond the normally erect posture   seen in Nazarene women, who were so used to carrying heavy loads upon   their heads. Mary took her mother’s hand, then turned to look in   Joseph’s direction and smiled. His breath was tight, his belly aching.   He watched as she and her parents headed out into the rain, then sat up   and returned his attention to the flush-faced revelers and silently   invited them to his own ceremony, now that he knew with certainty to   whom he would be betrothed. It was as though it were written in the   stars, and always had been. And always would be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “mother?” he called. It was late into the night, and Joseph could not   sleep. He had lain for at least an hour turning from one side to the   other on his pallet, staring up at the ceiling, occasionally reaching   out his hand to run it slowly along the mud wall, cool after the storm.   Also he had touched himself, lightly and with wonder, understanding now   the reason for his manhood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Mother!” he called again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It was his father’s frame that suddenly filled the low and narrow   doorway. Joseph’s mother had become an\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    increasingly sound sleeper. Also she had begun to grow a mustache.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “What is it, my son?” Jacob asked. “Are you ill?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “No.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Then why do you call so persistently, when your mother and I need to   take our rest?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He did not answer, and his father moved closer. “Joseph?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “When will we see those people again?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “What people?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “The people who came to the wedding party tonight.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    His father lifted his shoulders and made a sound deep in his throat.   “We all live in the same small village. We see one another often.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “No, but . . . the people Anne and Joachim, and their daughter, Mary.   When will we see them again?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Ahhhhhh,” his father said. “Have you interest in Mary?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Joseph said nothing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    His father clapped his hands together and his voice rose high and tight   in happiness. “I have waited long for this moment! I shall invite them   to Sabbath dinner next week, that you may look again upon your Mary.   And then we shall see what will happen.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I know already,” Joseph said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    His father scratched at his side and yawned. “We shall see. And now you   must sleep, that you may grow strong and healthy and into a husband fit   to father many sons.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Joseph turned onto his side and closed his eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I am happy for you, my son.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “And I too, Father.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Good night, Joseph.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He listened to his father’s footsteps move away from him in the dark.   Had his father felt this, this reeling sensation, big as all of the   heavens, for his now snoring wife? Impossible.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Joseph drew in a deep breath and let it out. He closed his eyes   tighter. But still he did not sleep. He saw again every move she made,   heard again her every word. And waited for morning, which would bring   him one day closer to his own wedding day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    chapter two\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    ...\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Mary\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Joseph’s mother, rachel, lit the two candles on the table, then passed   her hands slowly over the flickering flames and back toward herself,   welcoming in the Sabbath. Covering her eyes, she began reciting,   “Barukh atah Adonai, Elohaynu, melekh ha-olam . . .” Blessed are you,   Lord, our God, King of the Universe . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Mary sat with her eyes fixed on her lap, trying to pay attention, but   it was of no use. She was too excited: her heart thumped so hard she   thought it might be audible, her mind was racing, and she kept feeling   as though she might cry out. She drew in a breath and unclenched her   fists that she might at least appear calm, sitting here at the table   across from the young man to whom she was so strongly drawn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She and her parents had all but run through the\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    village’s narrow alleyways to the home of Rachel and Jacob, but still   they had arrived late, thanks to a neighbor’s ailing donkey that her   father had delayed their departure to attend to. Joachim had a gift for   curing animals, and someone was forever coming to him—no matter the   hour— with chickens, with sheep, with cows. Once, a little neighbor boy   had brought over a sparrow with a broken wing. With meticulous care,   Joachim had set the wing, using a twig and a thin strip of cloth. He   had then told the child to leave the bird with him; he would watch over   it that night. The bird had died, as expected, and at dawn Joachim had   buried it. Then he had hidden in the bushes until he caught another   sparrow, which he placed in a covered basket and presented to the boy.   Joachim told him his bird was cured, and now he should set it free. The   boy complied reluctantly; he watched with Joachim as the bird flew   furiously away. But then the child began to weep and stomp his feet,   saying, “I wanted it for myself!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Joachim gently admonished the boy, asking, “Which is greater, your   desire to have the bird captured, or the bird’s need for freedom?   Belonging to everyone, as it now does, does it not also belong to you?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Because Joachim had assisted the donkey in giving birth, the sun was   soon to set when Mary and her parents arrived at Joseph’s. There had   been no time to be shown graciously around his home. But no one could   fail to notice that the downstairs of the house had not one room but   two, and that it was equipped with many oil lamps; Joseph’s father had   olive orchards. One could not help but see that Rachel wore a mantle   dyed red with madder root, and that the linen of her tunic was whole   and without the patches so familiar to Mary and her parents. Joseph had   immediately risen higher in Mary’s esteem, not only for his family’s   riches but for the kind way in which he welcomed both her and her   parents. He had about him an air of easy confidence that Mary knew her   parents admired; they had looked at each other in an\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    approving way after he had spoken to them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The table had been properly set with two loaves of challah covered with   plain white cloths, and with earthenware cups. Rachel had politely   accepted the wine Joachim had brought, made with grapes from his own   vineyards, and then everyone had sat down immediately so that Rachel   could light the candles at the proper time. Now she completed the   blessing and uncovered her eyes to look at the candles and to smile at   her guests. The light in the room was a pinkish orange from the sun   hanging low in the sky, and there was in the air the rich scent of   cumin and garlic, of lemon and coriander.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Mary stole another look at Joseph’s mother—interesting how in   candlelight everyone looked beautiful, even Rachel, whose countenance   was overly long and wide, more a man’s face than a woman’s. But Mary   had seen already that Rachel’s heart was good and generous, her manner   lively, her faith deep. And for all her plainness, she had produced a   very handsome son. Joseph was too lean, perhaps, but he was wonderfully   tall, with reddish-brown hair and copper-colored eyes fringed with dark   lashes a woman would envy. His beard was already thick and even.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    After the evening service the parents performed the blessing for the   children, placing their hands on their offspring’s heads and exhorting   Mary to be like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah; for Joseph to be like   Ephraim and Menasseh. During the kiddush that followed, Mary felt a   rush of longing, as she often did during this prayer, to go home,   though not to the abode of Anne and Joachim. It was to another home, to   a place she could not even imagine, much less describe. “Kiy vanu   vacharta v’otanu qidashta mikol ha’ amiym,” she said softly, along with   the others. Indeed, you have chosen us and made us holy among all   peoples.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Mary felt deep inside herself, felt it more and more, that all people   were holy, that indeed all the earth, with its humans and its animals,   with its rocks and rivers and trees, was holy; and that all the things   upon the earth were given to one another in an act of such spectacular   grace it was impossible to comprehend. Yet an attempt at such   understanding should be what life was devoted to, should be what life   was for, she believed: let there be a joyful fullness in taking, and   also fullness in giving.New York Times bestselling author","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304999932133,"sku":"NP9780345505910","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345505910.jpg?v=1767739704","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-handmaid-and-the-carpenter-isbn-9780345505910","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}