Jim Stewart settled back in his new cushioned rocking chair, TV remote in one hand, his evening juice in the other. He stared at the blinking screen as he zipped through several channels.
Figures. Nothing on tonight. No one around. I hate Christmas. A travesty – the gifts, the phoniness of everyone being nice to each other.
He leaned forward and pushed hard on the remote.
Great. Is the battery going? What a stupid device.
Jim took a deep breath and winced.
What is that awful smell?
He looked to his right and noticed the dried up tree in the corner. An unused metal stand lay nearby while a pile of boxes were stacked against a corner chair.
I should dump that piece of garbage. Connie knows I won’t put it up or decorate it. Where has she been anyway? I’d better toss this tree outside before the whole house has that stench.
He placed his drink on the end table and stood for a brief moment. His head spun around, and his vision blurred. He fell back into his rocker.
He tried again
,
gripped the arm of the chair and got up. He walked forward to the TV and held on, taking a few short breaths. He rubbed his eyes to clear them and walked toward the tree before stumbling. He tripped and the tree landed on him as he fell to the floor.
Jim pushed the tree off and examined his hands. He pulled a few pine needles out of his arm and swore under his breath.
Blood trickled down his hand as he rolled the tree over. He grabbed onto the edge of the couch to lift himself up. He wiped the debris off his sweatshirt and pants, tucked in his shirt and took a deep breath.
He wiggled his toes and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bottle. “Who says flying doesn’t have its benefits?” he said, waving the bottle in the air. He opened it, took a sip and rested for a minute. After he emptied it with another gulp, he reached down and grabbed the top of the tree, dragging it. He squeezed it past the screen door and tossed it down the front steps, watching it tumble onto the snow-coated sidewalk.
He slapped his hands together and steadied himself on the wooden railing as he turned around, taking his time on the slippery ground.
He managed to reclaim his chair and proceeded to settle on watching the movie,
It’s a Wonderful Life.
He poured another glass of whiskey and sipped it while waiting for the commercials to end. Growing impatient, he pressed the button on the answering machine next to him.“There are no new messages,” said the robotic voice.
He poured more whiskey into his glass, drinking and remembering his dead wife.
Christmas is not the same anymore, Becca. How many years has it been since God took you away from me? I’ve forgotten. Seems like yesterday. I’m sitting here alone on Christmas Eve. How about that? Did you ever think we’d raise such ungrateful kids after everything we gave them?
“Everything,” he said out loud, taking a big gulp of whiskey. The alcohol dripped down his chin before he slurped it up with his tongue. He wiped his face with his sleeve.
Michael is the most ungrateful one of them all. Walking away from his home and church after his daughter disappears. What kind of a father runs away when his family needs him most? A coward. He must be guilty. A guilty man runs. I know if that ha
p
pened to Connie, Becca, I’d be busting down every door in town and kicking every sleazeball until I found her.
He nibbled on crackers and clicked the television off. “Yeah, what a son I’ve got. Not like me. Nope. Not like me at all.” Jim laughed and poured the remaining portion of the bottle into a taller glass.
He rocked back and forth, sipping and staring at the blank TV screen, examining his reflection.
“The hell with him,” he said, flipping up the footrest. He grabbed the phone from its holder, dialed and waited for his daughter to pick up. Her answering machine clicked on.
“Connie, where are you? It’s Dad. You remember me, don’t you?” He paused and then decided to wait for the instructions to delete the message and start over.
“How’s my wonderful daughter doing on Christmas Day, um, Christmas Eve? Where in God’s name are you? I haven’t heard from you in over two weeks. Are you busy at work? Is there a new man in your life? Your dad is sitting here once again.” He paused. “Alone.” Jim sighed. “Again.”
He hung up and lowered his head, fidgeting with his wedding ring. “You’re the only one for me, Becca. I’m faithful. Always.”
He rocked back and forth.
I thought we would grow old t
o
gether. Why did you have to leave me? You knew I couldn’t handle the kids alone. Why did you have to die so young? We had many more good years to live.
“Why?” he asked out loud again. He shook his head. “Why? Can someone out there tell me why?”
Jim leaned his head to the right, numb from too much whiskey. He squinted and blinked several times to clear his vision. He noticed a box-shaped object lying near the tree stand. Wondering what it was, he staggered over to the box and picked it up. He returned to his chair and took another quick sip from his glass. Putting it down, he reached inside the box and chose an ornament. The face of the ornament contained the picture of a bride and groom holding hands.
Rebecca and Jim’s First Christmas.
His hands trembled as he held it. He grimaced and squeezed the round ornament in his hands. It broke into several pieces falling on his lap. He swatted the remains to the floor and stared. A tear dropped from his right eye, sliding down his cheek and onto his top lip. “No. What have I done?” he said, falling to the floor.
Jim pushed the pieces into a pile and carefully placed them on a napkin. After removing a plastic bottle from the cabinet drawer, he sat on the floor and attempted to mend the old ornament. He only managed to connect four pieces before it broke again. He stood and rolled the napkin into a ball and threw it against the wall.
“Oh no. What have I done again?” he shouted. He fell to his knees and crawled to the napkin. He smelled it and leaned his head against the wall. “Why did she have to die that way?”
He emptied the napkin, dropped the pieces to the floor and wiped his face. He closed his eyes and lay against the wall for several minutes. His mind wandered to another place and time, but he was unsure where he was. Ring. Ring.
Connie? Could that be her? I knew she’d call. She’s the grateful child.
Jim rushed to the phone and grabbed it from the holder. He looked at the screen.
Who is this?
He waited until the answering machine came on. No one left a message. He slammed the phone into the holder. “Ungrateful children,” he shouted
.
Jim fell back into his chair, picked up his glass and resumed his drinking. When he had finished the remains of the whiskey, he wondered,
Now what?
He looked inside the box again and noticed an ornament shaped like a baseball. The inscription read, “Our first baseball game. Mets-Cubs, August 1969.”
“What happened?” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. “I gave you everything, Michael. Everything.”
Jim put the ornament back into the box. He picked up the telephone again and pressed several buttons. “I didn’t think you would pick up, Michael, but that isn’t going to stop me from calling you. This is your father speaking. Where have you been? Do you know there are a lot of people wondering where you’ve gone? I’ve had the police and FBI over here asking about you. Do you know how embarrassing this is to me? The neighbors are talking.”
He struggled for the next words. “It’s time for some tough love, Michael. You get your butt back here and start looking for your daughter or I’ll find you and ring your neck. Don’t make me come after you. You remember the night you called me to announce your engagement? Do you remember what I said to you that night? I said you needed to straighten yourself out.”
Jim fingered his empty glass and placed it on the side table. “Well, I’m saying it again. Get yourself straightened out. Enough of your pity party. It’s time you act like a man. I don’t care if you hate me. It’s what parents say to their kids.” He paused for a second. “Call me. I love you.”
Jim put the phone back in the holder and went to the cabinet in the kitchen. He leaned down and opened the little door. “There you are,” he said, pushing bottles around. He held one up to the light and smiled. “I hate to open you up now, my friend,” he said, “but what are friends for?”
The booming voice of Augustus yelling out instructions kept the adrenaline pumping through Michael’s body. His eyes stung from the spray of saltwater crashing aboard.
“My friend, you should go below,” Augustus said. “You have another long journey ahead of you.”
“I cannot sleep.”
“I understand. I have a daughter myself. She always asks me before each journey why I have to leave. I try to stay strong when I tell her I need to make a living. I miss her.”
Michael stood and rubbed his eyes. He squinted and looked to the far end of the boat. Alexander was gone, but three other soldiers milled around the coffins. He got lost in thought, staring at the area.
He had no plan. He knew he needed to get help from someone who knew how to talk to the Roman soldiers. However, he had no idea whom to trust. There was something about Julius that made him cautious. He seemed like a nice person, but on the other hand he was just like the soldiers. His only concern was silver and how to get more.
Michael heard Augustus say something, but the words were muffled as he trended deeper into thought. He considered talking to Augustus, wondering if he might be his only hope. He seemed like a noble man, a family man – someone who would understand what was at stake. Maybe he could convince the soldiers there was a better bargain to be had. Then again, they all understood silver. Perhaps Augustus would give him a loan. He could work it off on the next journey.
He turned to say something to Augustus. “I have to tell you.” He stopped. Augustus was gone. Michael glanced around and was surprised to see that no men were rowing.
Michael went below and saw the area was vacant. “Hello? Is anyone down here? Julius?” He walked from one wall to the next, pushing away boxes, carts and armor.
Strange. I guess I should take advantage of everyone being gone. I can stockpile some food before we hit shore. I may not get this chance again.
He tugged and pulled at the top of a cart. It wouldn’t budge. He picked up a stray spear.
Odd. A Roman soldier would never leave behind such a weapon.
He thrust the sharp part of the weapon into the top of the box. It splintered open about a foot wide and long.
Michael dropped the spear to the floor, stuck his hand inside and wiggled his fingers around. “What is this?” It felt like an old, grubby cloth, much like a Brillo pad back home. He pulled it out and in the dim light, he could see it was light brown and folded over several times.
He unfolded it and stared. Michael snatched a lantern sitting on the floor nearby and held it over the cloth. “Looks like someone’s face.”
He lowered his head, holding the lamp over the cloth. He stared again, feeling the texture of the picture.
Does not feel like any ink from this time. No wax on it. Cannot be a tablet like the one I wrote on before for Paul.
Michael moved the lantern closer to the picture and stood up. “Whoa,” he said. “Is this … ”
No. Can’t be. Maybe? It could be the relic Julius was talking about. Why would he be transporting it on this boat? Did it belong to Paul? Maybe this was evidence for Paul? Could this keep Paul alive longer? Save him from a brutal death?
Michael folded it back up and placed it back inside. He picked up the spear and carved a cross on top of the cart before climbing back upstairs. He looked for Julius and noticed the deck was nearly empty except for the soldiers milling around near the coffins. They were without their helmets and armor but still carried their weapons. He approached them with caution. “Can you tell me where all the men are?”
They didn’t answer. “Sirs, sirs,” he yelled at the Romans, “where is Augustus? Where is Julius? I need to talk to them.” None of the soldiers responded.
“Where is Alexander?” The Romans continued to ignore him. “I have silver for him.”
“Silver? Go below,” said the soldier. “He is with the others.”
“This way?” Michael asked, pointing to another stairway.
“Yes.”
Michael rushed down and stepped into several inches of water filling the area. “Terrific,” he said.
“There you are,” shouted Augustus. “Grab a bucket. We can use all the help we can get now.”
“Where?”
“Over there,” Augustus said, waving his arms to where some debris was floating. Michael waded over to the far end and retrieved a bucket. He joined Augustus and his men, throwing water out over the side. They dipped and tossed the water at a frantic pace.
“It is not doing any good,” said a worker to Augustus.
“Are we going down?” asked Julius, peering into the stairwell.
“We are,” said Augustus. “We are only saving a few moments. The ship is taking in more water than we can get out.”
“How far are we from land?” asked Julius.
“Not far. A good swim. A short boat trip.”
“My cargo? Can we save it?” asked Julius.
“I am afraid not. Save yourself,” Augustus said. He gave him a look of doom.
“Oh no,” Michael said, tossing away his bucket.
“Where are you going?” asked Augustus.
“To save my daughter.”
“What? Your daughter is not here. Save yourself.”
“She is here,” Michael said. “In a coffin up on deck!”
Augustus stopped passing a bucket up the stairs. “You are seasick. She is not here.” He shouted to his workers. “It is time to leave. Save yourselves, men. Take the rescue boats. There are not many. The older men first. The younger men can swim.”
Michael looked back at the workers coming up the stairs as he reached the deck. He stormed the area where Elizabeth was being held. “Move out of the way,” he told the Romans.
“We do not move until Alexander tells us,” one soldier said.
“Do you see Alexander? Look around,” Michael yelled. “He is not here.”
“You speak lies,” a soldier said as he stepped forward, drawing his spear to Michael’s chest.
Michael ran to the side where the small rescue boats lay. He leaned over the side and looked into the sea. “There,” he said, turning around to face the soldiers. “Come here.”
One soldier walked over to him. “Look, that is him,” Michael screamed. “Rowing away, probably with all the silver. There is your fearless leader.”
“He has left us,” shouted the soldier, rushing to his comrades. The three Romans raced to a rescue boat, dropped it in the water and climbed down into it as the ship began to submerge.
“Help me,” Michael yelled to them.
“Save yourself,” shouted a soldier as they rowed away.
Michael rushed to the coffins and pushed at the top box with his shoulder. He stopped, glanced around the deck and saw no help was coming. He picked up a spear left behind.
“Watch out, Elizabeth!”
He rammed the spear into the far end of the coffin, cracking a chunk of wood off. Her feet were visible. He slammed the spear into it again and saw her stomach. He thrust the spear inside the coffin one more time and broke off several more pieces.
“Come, my friend, we have to go now,” pleaded Augustus.
“I cannot go,” Michael said. “My daughter is in here.”
“The water, look,” Augustus said.
The deck was submerged, but Michael continued, ramming the spear near her head. He reached inside, ripped out the cloth stuck inside her mouth and quickly untied the rope around her wrists. “Use your hands, Elizabeth. You’ve got to help!”
Michael stood and jerked back on the wood, sending one piece floating away. “Do not open your mouth,” he yelled. He pulled and tore more pieces away and dropped them into the water. “Close your eyes.” He heard her gag. “Close your mouth too.” Michael gripped the opening and with every bit of strength he had, he ripped it apart. He grabbed Elizabeth and pulled her out, lifting her above the water. “Spit it out,” he said.
Elizabeth coughed and gagged. She vomited a couple of times and tried to catch her breath.
“Spit it all out,” Michael demanded.
She held up her hands and waved him away, gasping for air. When she settled down moments later, Elizabeth hugged him. He wiped a gash from his hand on his garment, letting the salt water sting it.
He pushed her away. “Help me,” he said. “Push this coffin with me.”
“What?”
The water rose to their knees. “Push,” he ordered. They shoved the top coffin off and into the water. “Use this as a floatation device,” he said. The water rose to his stomach as he pulled the second cart away. He leaned on top of it. “Swim,” he said. “Kick.”
“Where?”
“Follow the boat,” he said, pointing to where Augustus was.
“Where are they going?”
“Back to Caesarea.”
“We are not supposed to be going there,” Elizabeth said.
“We need to get to shore first.”
Michael glanced behind him and watched the ship sink. Carts and boxes floated up to the top all around them. He swam past a couple, examining their lids.
“What are you doing?” Elizabeth asked. “We should be swimming toward that boat.”
“I’m checking the boxes.”
“Why? Does it matter if we have food now?”
“No, but there is something very important in one of them.”
“There are so many of them,” Elizabeth said.
“I found it!” Michael said as he pulled the cart toward his body. He pulled out the cloth and examined it, saying, “Not too bad. A little water on it. Thank goodness I folded it.” He swam over to Elizabeth. “Just keep kicking. I have no idea how far we have to go.”
They swam and swam, taking a few moments to float and rest. Every time they did, the distance between them and Augustus increased. The sea was calm for the next couple of hours as an early morning fog made the once distinct shoreline hard to see.
“Are we close?” asked Elizabeth.
“I can’t see.”
“Where is the boat?”
Michael shook his head and spit out some seawater. He wiped his eyes. “Everything is blurry to me. I can’t see Augustus anymore.”
He laid his body on top of the coffin for a few moments, taking deep breaths.
“What are you doing?” asked Elizabeth, looking back at him.
“Give me a moment. I’m resting.”
“We’re almost there, right?”
Michael didn’t answer her but closed his eyes, holding on to the coffin with one hand and the box with the other.
“What’s wrong?” Elizabeth asked.
He let go of the cart and put his hand up in the air, letting his body fall into the water as if he were diving off a board. When his head failed to submerge, he opened his eyes and smiled. “My feet just hit the ground.”
Elizabeth did the same and said, “Well, enough of this kicking and swimming stuff. I’m walking to shore now.” She pushed the long box away.
“Whoa, grab that,” Michael said.
“Why? We do not need these anymore.”
“We don’t. But somebody out there does.”
“What?”
“There’s a body in there.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. There’s a body in there. A dead one. We need to push these to shore.”
“I’ve been swimming with a dead person?”
“Yes.”
“Yuck.”
“That dead person just saved us.”
Elizabeth frowned and pushed the coffin to shore. They left them at the edge and sat down. “I need a few moments to rest,” he said.
“Now what?” she asked.
He turned around and saw some men pulling a small boat ashore. “Hold this,” Michael said, handing her the small box with the cloth in it. “Do not give this to anyone.”
“Where are you going?”
“To speak with them,” he said, pointing to two men chatting. He jogged over to Augustus and Julius. “My friend, you made it,” Augustus said with a smile.
“We did.”
“We?”
“Yes. My daughter is with me.”
“She is alive?” Julius asked.
“Yes.”
Julius gave Michael an angry look.
“What is wrong with him?” Michael asked Augustus.
“He has lost much. His cargo is floating in the sea. He was hoping for much silver with his cargo. Everything is gone. His relics too.”
“I am sorry. I need your help.”
“What is it you need?”
“A way back to Rome. I have something to give to my friend, Paul.”
“Your friend was taken. I do not think it is wise to make that trip anymore.”
“I thought it was supposed to be a friendly trip.”
Augustus shook his head. “No. The Romans have wanted Paul for many sunsets. He does not have many more sunsets to live.”
“That cannot be. I thought the first time he was to go there he was to be set free.”
“You confuse me. Your friend Paul was taken to Rome some sunsets ago and returned here. This is the second trip for him.”
“Are you sure?”
“I do not forget a face.”
Michael lowered his head.
“I am sorry, my friend.”
“I need to go. I need to help him.”
“You are a noble man. The next ship does not leave for several sunsets.”
“I thought you were leaving soon to go back,” Michael said.
“No. I am done with traveling for now. We were fortunate to have survived this journey. Who knows what happens on the next one? I will not take another for a while.”
“Why though? You are a man of the sea,” Michael said.
“I am, but I am a man of my family as well. I need to see my family more. My daughter. My son. My wife.”
Michael lifted his head and extended his hand. Augustus gripped his shoulder and smiled. “You are a strange man, my friend, but a good man.”
“As are you, Augustus.”
“May you travel in safety, Michael,” he said.
He watched Augustus sling a small bag over his shoulder and leave.
“Dad,” Elizabeth yelled. He turned around and saw Julius struggling with her. “Oh no.” He raced to her and pushed Julius away. “What is your problem?”
“I have lost all my silver because of the journey,” he said in anger. “There is a reward for your daughter and her friend.”
“You will not take her.” He swung at Julius, hitting the side of his head. He fell to the ground. Julius tripped him. Michael tumbled over him, pulling Julius to the ground. He clamped both hands around his neck. “Leave us alone,” Michael yelled. He squeezed harder, pressing his thumbs into his skin until Julius gagged.
“Dad,” Elizabeth shouted. “Stop. Stop now. Please.”