Beloved Protector (Heartsong Presents) (17 page)

Tapat and Abigail watched him leave, then turned to mutually study each other. Tapat knew she had found a friend.

Chapter 17

F
or Tapat, the days fell into a pattern. In the morning she made her breakfast and memorized the portion of Paul’s letter to the Romans, which Jason had allowed her to copy. She then spent an hour in prayer before going to Abigail’s and helping her sew garments. Because Abigail was unable, Tapat would then hand them out to the poor in the community.

If the ache in her heart was apparent to the old woman, she never said, but Tapat noticed that Abigail frequently watched her with knowing and sympathetic eyes.

Tapat had learned that Abigail didn’t exactly dislike her daughter-in-law; they just didn’t understand each other.

Acta was a Roman through and through. She worshipped the gods of the Greeks and Romans, often staring in exasperation at Abigail and Tapat for what she considered their foolish religion.

Abigail’s son had drifted away from his Jewish faith, refusing to step into the confrontations between his wife and his mother. He chose another path—the way of the agnostic, which was insidiously creeping into the minds of many.

Watching their relationship, Tapat could better understand why the Lord had forbidden his children to be yoked with unbelievers. Not that there was a lack of love. On the contrary, Acta and her husband were forever smiling at each other, touching when they thought no one was looking. Despite the disparity in their beliefs, Tapat envied them that love, but she wondered how much better their life would be if they plowed in the same direction instead of pulling against each other.

As for Jason and Tapat, Acta readily accepted them for the relief they brought from caring for her mother-in-law.

Tapat thought it a shame that Acta’s attitude had affected her three children, who had no time for their own grandmother. It was no wonder that Abigail had grown bitter in her loneliness.

Because Abigail’s son, David, was Jewish and Acta was Roman, Tapat, head bent over her stitching, asked Abigail about her conversion to the Way. The older woman smiled, her eyes taking on a faraway look.

“It was Jason’s doing,” she said. Tapat stopped stitching at something in Abigail’s voice. She looked at Tapat. “Have you ever heard of demons?”

Tapat had heard the stories of demons and demon possession. She wasn’t exactly sure where Abigail was going with this, but it was as though a shadow suddenly passed over the sun. Tapat felt a chill shiver through her.

“Jason used to live in Gergesa, an area close to the Sea of Galilee,” Abigail told her, never interrupting her close stitching. “He was possessed by a legion of demons and used to roam through the graveyards and hills close to the sea.”

Tapat forgot altogether about sewing. The garment she was working on lay forgotten on her lap as she listened, enthralled, to the story Abigail told her. It was truly hard to believe. Jason would have been just a young man then, but even so, she was having a hard time accepting that he could break chains and overturn boulders. It was hard for her mind to take in.

“And then Jesus came to him one night and, even though he was a Gentile, cast the demons out. They went into a herd of pigs, ran into the sea and drowned.”

Tapat didn’t know what to say.

“Jason asked Jesus if he could follow Him, but the Lord told him to go home and tell his family what had happened. It wasn’t yet time for the Lord to show that He had come to bring salvation to the Gentiles as well as the Jews. Jason did tell his family, but he didn’t stop there. He traveled all over the Decapolis telling his story. Some people, those who had known of Jason, believed. Others did not.”

“And you?”

She stopped sewing, once more staring off into space. “I heard him speak in the forum one day and believed what he had to say. The Greeks don’t understand demons, nor even Satan, but, as a Jew, I had no trouble believing all of it. The hard part for me was accepting that the Messiah had finally come. Being a Gentile, Jason had no idea just who Jesus was, so I explained the Messiah to him.”

“How came you to live in the Decapolis?” Tapat asked curiously.

Abigail sighed. “When David married Acta, he was shunned by the Jews in Jerusalem. It became hard for him to make a living, except among the Gentiles who were much more lenient in regards to such matters. He had heard about the Decapolis and, though the area has clung to its Greek heritage, it has become a gathering of nationalities.”

Abigail tied off her finishing seam and bit the threads. Shaking out the garment, she checked for any flaws. Tapat knew she wouldn’t find any.

Abigail laid the garment in her lap, staring out the small window that overlooked the green hills that surrounded Pella.

“My husband died many years ago, so I live with my son. When he moved here, I came along.”

Something in her voice made Tapat look at her closely.

“When I became a Christian, he was angry, but there was little he could say when he had married a Gentile himself.”

Tapat knew that David wasn’t of the Way, but she had to give him credit for continuing to support his mother. He might reject the Savior she had come to believe in, but he would never reject his mother. Which was probably why he refused to get embroiled in arguments between his wife and his mother. It was obvious that he loved them both.

Abigail handed over the garment she had been working on. “This one goes to little Hector,” she told Tapat.

Tapat smiled. Hector was a small boy who had been crippled in an accident several years ago. Even though he had to walk on crutches, he was a joy to be around, always looking on the bright side of life.

She kissed the old woman on the cheek, smiling as her wrinkled face colored in embarrassment.

“Go on with you,” Abigail snorted, but Tapat didn’t miss the sparkle in her faded old eyes.

Saying goodbye to Acta and getting a brisk nod in return, Tapat wished again that there was some way to reach the woman and her husband for the Lord. It would make life so much more joyful for everyone in that house.

After she had finished handing out the garments, she made her way to the waterfall and seated herself next to the flowing water. When she came here now, she no longer felt the sadness of her parting from Andronicus; she felt only the peace of Elohim that only the beauty of His world could inspire.

This was her praying spot. Many hours she had spent here praying for everyone she could think of, including herself.

Days had turned into weeks, weeks into months. Loneliness and sadness still dogged her days, and if she wasn’t entirely happy, she was at least content.

It had taken time, but she had eventually been able to bring herself to hold Hazaq again and be happy for the life he had found. When she returned him to his mother, the emptiness of her arms stayed with her long after she returned to her own home.

She threw a stick into the water, remembering when Andronicus had done the very same thing. She watched it bobbing along until it fell over the waterfall. Soon this small stream would become a rushing torrent. It was now the month of Elul, what the Romans called August. In another month, the first rains would begin and the wadis would once again run with water, the life-giving source for much of the region.

“Tapat! Tapat!”

Startled, Tapat turned to see little Hector struggling to hurry to her, greatly impeded by his crutches. She got to her feet and hastened to him, the excitement in his voice bringing a rush of fear.

He reached her, struggling to regain his breath and talk at the same time.

She knelt before him, gently clasping his thin upper arms. “Calm yourself, Hector. Catch your breath before you try to speak.”

He did as she asked, finally taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“A messenger has come,” he told her, his voice gaining pitch as the exciting news he was about to share caught up with him again. “Jerusalem has fallen!”

Tapat went cold all over. How was this possible in so short of a time? It had only been two months since she had left Jerusalem.

“Are you certain that is what the messenger said?” she asked, her heart pounding with dread.

He nodded vigorously.

“What else did he say?”

Hector shrugged. “I didn’t stay to hear. I came to find you.”

Tapat picked up his crutch, which had fallen to the ground, and handed it back to him. Holding on to his other arm, she turned him around. “Let’s go and find out exactly what has happened.”

As usual when something unusual happened, everyone gathered at Jason’s villa to discuss it. His was the only house large enough to fit all of the believers at one time.

She listened as the messenger told about the destruction of the temple. Although Tapat knew that the Lord no longer lived in such temples, she still felt a great sadness for the loss of a symbol that had always been an integral part of her people’s choice to follow the one true God.

And what of Andronicus and Crassus? Would she ever know what had happened to them?

Dejected, she left the meeting and went to share the information with Abigail. The old woman would be heartbroken.

* * *

It was a week later, and Tapat was once again helping Abigail. Tapat overheard Acta and David talking about David’s trip to Caesarea Maritima. He tailored garments to ship to a merchant in Rome and he needed to oversee it personally.

Through the open door she could see Acta helping him pack the goods he needed to take and sniffing back tears. David’s handsome face gentled with concern as he brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“I won’t be gone long,” he told her softly.

“But the zealots...”

He placed a finger over her lips. “I will be fine. Expect me to return before the next moon.”

She kissed his finger.
“Amo te.”

He pulled her into a hug. “I love you, too. Take care of my mother while I am gone.”

Tapat sat frozen, her face leaching of color. Abigail frowned at her.

“Are you all right?”

Tapat sucked in a deep breath, eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to digest what she had just overheard. “I’ll be right back. I need to ask Acta something.”

Acta was standing at the door watching David as he disappeared into the distance. She finally turned back inside, frowning when she saw Tapat standing behind her. She hastily brushed the remaining tears from her cheeks.

“What do you want?”

Tapat ignored her belligerence. “What does
amo te
mean?”

Acta’s frown deepened. “You were listening?”

“Not intentionally,” Tapat disagreed. “It’s just that I’ve heard that phrase before. I thought it was a statement of goodwill.”

Acta laughed, studying Tapat with a look that could only be considered insulting.

“It means
I love you.
”

Tapat’s heart began thudding in her chest. “And
mea vita?
”

“Where did you hear that?” she asked curiously.

“From one of the soldiers I was traveling with,” Tapat told her. “What does it mean?”

Acta pushed past her and went to the table to begin kneading the dough she had set earlier. “It means
my life.
”

Tapat stood like a statue as she remembered the incident with Andronicus looking down at her from the height of his horse.

Amo te, mea vita,
he had said softly.

“I love you, my life,” Tapat whispered, her thoughts raging out of control.

“What did you say?” Acta asked, glaring at her suspiciously.

Tapat shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing at all,” she answered, going back into Abigail’s room and seating herself in the chair by the bed. She picked up the garment she had been working on, but it lay forgotten on her lap as her mind continued to whirl.

“Are you all right?” Abigail asked again, her concerned voice bringing Tapat’s mind back into focus. “You are as white as the snow that covers the mountains in winter.”

“I...I...” Tapat got swiftly to her feet, replacing the garment on the bed. “I’m sorry, Abigail. There’s something I have to do.”

She hurried from the room, ignoring Acta’s curious stare as she left the house. She needed time alone. Time to think and pray.

Could it be true? Did Andronicus truly love her? How was that even possible?

She climbed up the hill to the waterfall, dropping to the ground and curling her legs under her. She was having trouble getting her thoughts into some kind of logical order to know how to pray.

The thought uppermost in her mind was whether Andronicus had survived the attack on Jerusalem. If he loved her, could that have been why he led her to think otherwise? She pushed her palms against her temples and groaned as she tried to stop the images dancing trough her mind. She fell prostrate on the ground and prayed harder, not really knowing what she was saying, just allowing her spirit to speak her agony to the Lord.

How long she lay thus, she was uncertain. The shadows were beginning to lengthen, letting her know that darkness would soon be covering the land. She really needed to head home, but it was so peaceful here. She could hear the doves cooing as they settled themselves in the trees for the night. The rushing water tumbling and gurgling over the rocks was amplified in the stillness.

Skittering rocks on the hill behind her let her know that someone or something was approaching. She sat up, wiping from her cheeks the tears that she hadn’t even known she had shed.

When Andronicus came into view, her heart stuttered and then began racing faster than a speeding chariot. She slowly got to her feet, wanting nothing more than to run to him and throw herself into his arms. At her hesitation, he stopped, then slowly resumed walking toward her.

When he was close enough, he reached up and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, his eyes intent as they searched her face.

“I made a promise to myself that if God would spare my life, I would come back for you.”

She stared at him, stupefied. What was he saying? Which god was he talking about?

He sighed heavily and wrapped her in arms of steel, his hold so tight it restricted her breathing, but she didn’t care. She hoped he would never let her go. He laid his cheek against the top of her head.