Andrew, frowning thoughtfully, turned to old Bartholomew, who was all but exhausted by the forced march, and said in an awed undertone, 'What do you make of that?'
Bartholomew shook his head, clumsily licked his dry lips, and croaked, huskily, 'Perhaps he didn't want to be followed.'
* * * * * *
It was true, as Peter had learned, that Jesus had stopped to rest and have a friendly word with Hannah, whom he had not seen since the day he had miraculously healed her; but this was not the main reason for his visit. He wanted to see Esther; and said so, after brief inquiries of Hannah about her health.
Sensing that her presence was not required or desired, Hannah excused herself and left the two alone together.
'I have been anxious to talk with you, Master,' said Esther. 'There is no reason for my remaining here any longer. What shall I do? Where shall I go? I have no homeland now, no plans, no future.'
He did not answer her importunate queries directly, but began to talk about the great crowds that had followed him, and would be following him, day by day, throughout the summer. It was, he went on, a multitude that stirred one's compassion. So many grievously sick ones were brought from long distances, through the heat and into the confusion of a jostling throng. Desperate young mothers from afar carried their blind and crippled babies in their arms, arriving hungry, dirty, and exhausted. Something must be done for them . . . He paused and regarded the girl with entreating eyes.
'You mean—me?' she faltered.
'Yes, Fara,' he replied quietly. 'I offer you a mission—and a homeland too.'
'A homeland?' she queried.
'In my Kingdom.'
There was a long moment before she spoke.
'I shall try to do what I can for them, Master; but I wish you had asked me to do some service for you. I owe you so very much!'
'My child,' said Jesus softly, 'whatever you do for the least of these needy ones, you will have done it for me.'
* * * * * *
Within a few hours the swelling crowd had taken Capernaum. The whole countryside hurried in from the fields and vineyards to double the throng that knew something important was about to happen.
Early the next morning, Peter, James, and John appeared on the broad stone steps in front of the Synagogue and stood in an attitude of expectancy. Already the spacious plaza was half filled with restless people. At the sight of these men, known to be associates of the Carpenter, the crowd moved forward, and from the side streets and near-by lake-shore a multitude poured into the cobble-paved area.
At this juncture Rabbi Ben-Sholem opened the imposing entrance-door of the Synagogue, came out upon the highest step, and sternly commanded the crowd to disperse.
Nobody stirred. In some quarters there was impudent laughter. White and shaken with anger, the Rabbi shouted that they had no right to be there, that they were defiling a holy place.
A sullen growl of protest rose from the unruly crowd. Hecklers cupped their mouths with their hands and yelled, 'Since when was this plaza a holy place?' . . . 'The plaza belongs to the public' . . . One red-faced, wine-soaked tramp (probably from Samaria, thought Peter) had the audacity to shout, 'Go to, Greybeard!'
Ben-Sholem impotently shook an outraged fist, gathered the skirts of his robe tightly about his thin legs, and retreated, to the accompaniment of more laughter; jeering laughter.
Peter was sorry and chagrined. He had no reason to be fond of the Rabbi, but this indignity to the old man and his sacred office was much too much! It was a pity, he thought, that Jesus could not pick his audience and exclude all this rough element, this rude riff-raff from pagan Samaria, these no-account émigrés from Macedonia, these dirty, half-civilized Damascenes. The Master's message would be wasted on these rowdies! What was the good of talking to such people about a Kingdom of love—and good will—and peace?
Now the enraged Ben-Sholem—and surely he had plenty to be angry about—would call his Regents together and demand that something be done. And Jairus would be forced to notify Julian, the Commander of the Fort. And Jesus would be arrested, jailed, no doubt—and flogged, too. . . . He should have been contented with his successes in Cana.
Presently the Master appeared on the steps of the Synagogue and began to speak. It was immediately obvious that he had been aware of the rudeness of the crowd—and deplored it. He had been appointed, he said, to offer a way of salvation to the world; and that meant everybody. In a task so great as this, no prudent thought could be taken about the cost of it or the waste of it. His mission, he said, was to sow the seed of good will among men in the hope of an eventual harvest of peace. Much of this seed would be squandered. Some of it would fall among weeds and brambles, where it would have no chance at all to grow, but the sower could not pause or look back to lament this extravagance. Some of the seed would fall upon stony ground where there was very little soil to nourish it and the tender plants would soon wither and die; but the sower must not be dismayed. Some of the life-giving grain would grow! Some of it would find friendly lodging in fertile ground!
The multitude had grown very quiet. Nobody was grinning now. Even the toughest of them knew what the Carpenter meant when he added significantly, 'Whoever among you has ears to hear, let him hear.'
There was a sudden stir on the outskirts of the throng. A path through the densely packed crowd was opening to admit a person of some importance who was forcing his way to the front. Peter, standing near Jesus, but on the step immediately below him, craned his neck to identify if possible the well-dressed, determined man who had assumed the right to intrude. It was Jairus! Jairus was striding forward evidently intending to interrupt. His face showed agitation. Peter's heart raced: now the blow would fall!
Jesus stopped speaking—and waited. If he was apprehensive, he gave no signs of anxiety. The crowd was silent, expectant, on tiptoe, holding its breath. Jairus gazed up into the Carpenter's friendly eyes and drew so close that when he spoke only those close by were able to hear what he said.
'Master—my little daughter is grievously ill! We fear she is dying. I implore you to help us!'
Before Jesus could reply, Joseph the butler, who had now arrived, quite out of breath, huskily murmured into his master's ear, 'She is gone, sir!'
Jairus' shaking head drooped and his tears were flowing as he turned away. Jesus laid a hand on his arm and said gently: 'I shall go with you, Jairus.'
'It is too late, Master,' said Jairus brokenly. 'She is dead!'
'Come!' said Jesus. 'Let us go!'
* * * * * *
The astounding restoration of Jairus' little daughter was a notable triumph for Jesus. No one more keenly appreciated this than Peter, who had doubted the Master's prudence in returning to Capernaum, where, he feared, there might be serious trouble. Now it appeared that Capernaum, instead of being a place of danger, was the safest spot in all Galilee for Jesus to pursue his ministry without molestation.
As for the influential Jairus, his gratitude was boundless. He had made it clear that he was on Jesus' side, and Jairus' opinion had weight. He was known for his sagacity and his insistence on justice for all, and whatever he believed in was good enough for Capernaum.
Ben-Sholem had got himself into an awkward predicament which had eliminated him—at least for the present—as a hostile critic. Beside himself with rage over the indignities he had suffered at the hands of Jesus' audience, he had retreated from the scene of his humiliation, before Jairus had arrived in the plaza, and had impetuously dispatched messengers to each of the Synagogue Regents summoning them to an immediate conference. With the exception of Jairus, they had all come at full speed, learning on the way that Jesus had performed an amazing miracle in the home of the Chief Regent.
By the time they were convened in Ben-Sholem's beautiful library, the Rabbi himself had heard the strange tidings; but, so accustomed was the old man to having his own will prevail in all matters, that he proceeded with his demand to have Jesus tried as a heretic and a disturber of the peace. The Regents, minus their potent spokesman, were embarrassed and speechless.
Freshly indignant over their apparent lack of interest in taking this drastic action, the Rabbi impulsively resigned, his resignation to take effect forthwith. This, he well knew, would bring these dunces to terms; for it was unthinkable that they would permit such an appalling disaster to fall upon their Synagogue!
To his consternation, they all sat tongue-tied for a while; and then, without debate, unhappily mumbled their acceptance. The old man wept inconsolably while they tiptoed quietly away. After an hour of lugubrious self-pity, Ben-Sholem dried his eyes in the warmth of his renewed anger and decided to take his case to a higher tribunal. Summoning his servants, he set off for Jerusalem.
Old Annas, who had recently retired as High Priest, to be succeeded by his son-in-law Caiaphas, was one of Ben-Sholem's closest friends. In the long ago they had been fellow-students in the Rabbinical College. Indeed, so intimate was their continuing comradeship that on the annual occasion of Passover Week, Ben-Sholem was the house-guest of his eminent friend, who, despite his retirement, kept his ageing fingers on the pulse of the Sanhedrin, composed of elderly men long accustomed to listening attentively when he spoke.
Annas could be counted on to view Ben-Sholem's intolerable grievances sympathetically; together they would tell the whole story to Caiaphas. Then we would see whether a brazen young carpenter from obscure little Nazareth had a right to ruin the Capernaum Synagogue and incite all Galilee to flout the faith of their fathers! Yes, and it would take more than the wealth and popularity of Jairus to save this charlatan from the righteous wrath of the Sanhedrin!
Peter knew nothing about the abdication of the old Rabbi and his departure to avenge himself, nor would he have worried very much had he known, for Jesus' position was secure. He could take care of himself in any emergency.
Late that afternoon the small group of close friends waited in Andrew's cottage for Peter to return and report. Arriving at length, full of excitement over the day's events, the Big Fisherman flung himself into a chair, scrubbed a perspiring brow with the back of his hand, and declared, 'You know I didn't want him to come back to Capernaum; but he knew what he was doing. Never again will I question his wisdom—about anything! Jesus knows best!'
'High time you found that out!' remarked his brother. 'Now tell us exactly what happened. There are many stories afloat.'
Peter began at the beginning. They would remember, he said, that Jesus had beckoned him to follow as Jairus and the butler led the way through the crowd. Three tall racing camels, in the care of their drivers, waited on a side-street.
'You mean to say you rode a camel?' exclaimed Johnny.
'Yes,' nodded Peter, 'but I shouldn't want to do it again.'
'And the Master!' wondered Philip, 'he rode a camel? How did he get along?'
'Very well, I think,' grinned Peter. 'I was too busy with my own excursion to notice. It was a rough voyage—but we got there. . . . At the house we heard the clamour of lamentations. A score of professional mourners, who had been hanging about for hours waiting to be hired, were huddled on the verandah, with their black hoods over their faces, howling like dogs. Jesus was vexed by the noise and commanded them to cease and begone.'
'That's one advantage the poor have over the rich,' put in James. 'When there's death in the house, you aren't bothered with hired mourners.'
'We went at once to the bed-chamber where the little girl lay,' continued Peter. 'Jesus led the way, with Jairus and his wife Adiel closely following. They asked me to come too. The Master sat down on the edge of the bed and gazed fixedly at the child for a long time. Her face had the whiteness of death. After a while, the Master said softly, as if not to awaken her, "She is sleeping."'
'You mean—she wasn't dead?' exclaimed Thaddeus.
'That's in doubt,' said Peter. 'They all thought she was. She certainly seemed to be dead. He said she was asleep.'
'Perhaps he meant the sleep of death,' observed old Bartholomew.
'Perhaps,' mumbled Peter vaguely. 'Whatever he meant, that was what he said. Adiel must have thought he believed the child was sleeping, for she burst out crying and shook her head. "No, Master!" she sobbed. "My precious Sharon is gone!" With that, he leaned forward, patted the little girl gently on the cheek, and said, "Come, Sharon, awake!"'
The Big Fisherman's voice was unsteady: he noisily cleared his throat to control it.
'It was all very touching,' he went on huskily. 'Little Sharon slowly opened her eyes; and as Adiel flung herself down by the bedside with a cry of joy, the child smiled sleepily and said, barely above a whisper, "There were beautiful flowers, everywhere, just as he told us."'
'It was a dream,' thought Andrew.
'Who can say?' murmured Peter. After an interval of silence, he added, 'As for me—I think the child was dead!'
They had sat transfixed through this recital. Now that the strange story was ended, they stirred.
'What are we supposed to do now?' inquired Philip. 'Did the Master tell you?'
'He spends the night at the house of Jairus,' said Peter. 'Tomorrow he will rest here at the cottage. He is very tired. The next day we start back to Cana, though we are to make camp that night at Hammath.'
'But why does he stop at Hammath,' queried James, 'when so many people are waiting for him in Cana?'
'Yes—and a great crowd will doubtless follow him from Capernaum and along the way,' said Philip. 'He will be forced to speak at Hammath, and that will be wearisome.'
'Well,' said Peter, 'be that as it may. We're stopping at Hammath.'
'I think I shall go back to Bethsaida,' announced Andrew, rising. 'I should like to see Hannah before we leave.'
'I shouldn't object to sleeping in a bed tonight, myself,' said Peter. 'Tell Hannah to expect me for supper. I shall be over there—in a couple of hours. I have promised old Manasseh that I would talk with him. He wants to lease one of the ships—just for the summer, of course.'