Nazarene Christi 07

Days have gone by, and every effort she made to clarify things with Joseph was to no avail. Whenever she visits the workshop he either leaves her to the tools or snob her. At night he would go home without stopping at Mary’s, as if her house never existed again.
Joseph oiled the metal portion of his Monday hammer, leaving the wooden handle, hung it on a shelve at the far end of his workshop, brought in the furnished chairs he had kept outside for sampling, shut the Windows. Picked his hand bag and made for the door.
“Peace be with you, my son,”
a man almost twice his age came in.
 “Same with you. Please, how may I help you? And, please make it quick the heaven's been making faces,”
“Your shop’s amazingly clean, just like your betrothed,” he looked around for something, and then pointed to the now shining hammer that hung at the far end of the workshop. “Why is it that way?”
“I greased it to avoid rust.”
“Amazing.  How amazing it is, the metal is shining yet the wooden handle is untouched.” The man said, “I know your plans about leaving your betrothed, but listen carefully, Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.”
A lightening slayed the dark clouds outside and it began to Rain heavily.  Cold breeze ran into his workshop like young children playing hide and seek, thus woke Joseph from his sleep. He looked outside and found it dark and rainy, “My betrothed?” He picked his jacket and made through the door, and into the rain.
“Joseph! Are you leaving with your doors still open?” a neighbor asked.
“Shut it for me!”
“Your hand bag's still inside!”
“Take it, if you like it.”
 He ran like a cheetah overtaking carriages till he halt at a distance a way from Mary's window. With eyes full of tears and rain water alike, he watched Mary sit near the window with her face shining bright like a golden jade each time lightening occurred. She wasn't stitching tonight.
After some minutes, she reached to shut the window.
With his left hand stretched towards her, “Sweetheart!” He said, and then continued till he was before her, her jaws ajar, “Surprised to see me,”
She nodded in affirmation, and accompanied it with a “No,”
“Make way,” he jumped in, and embraced her in a hug. “I’ve wronged you, and I’m sorry for that,” he detached from the hug on realizing his wet clothing, “Oh. I’m sorry,”
“Please, I should be the one apologizing,” she went to her bed, brought out the cloth she had been stitching all along from where she kept it under her pillow, handed it to him, “Wear with pride, my husband,”