The Hidden Flame (12 page)

Abigail frowned. A union? She was not in any way related to business or commerce. "I ... I don't understand," she said.

"He wishes a betrothal. With a marriage in short order. He is a widower and has two young children in need of a mother...."

Abigail was certain the man was continuing on, but she was no longer listening. She had no objection to caring for children. But could that not be done without a marriage? She felt her heart pounding. She reached for Jacob's arm. Her lips refused to move. She wasn't sure she even breathed. Her entire body felt numb.

It was Jacob who answered for her. "That is impossible," he said with no hesitancy. "A betrothal cannot be arranged without permission of our guardian. He may have already made plans for her future."

Relief washed over Abigail with Jacob's first words. As he continued with the possibility that she might already be promised, she sucked in some air to try to keep her head from spinning. Surely Alban would not have made plans for her without her knowledge. But Jacob was saying, "Our guardian is to be in touch with us ... shortly. We will pass the man's request on to him when he comes. Until such time, I trust the man-Ezra, is it?-will bear patience."

As Jacob made as though to depart, Jonah nodded. "I suppose that is as it must be. I shall inform Sapphira, and she can let her brother know that the request has been relayed and will await a hearing."

Jacob nodded in a manner far beyond his years and experience, and Abigail was both astounded and reassured. She heard Jacob muttering but could not make out the meaning of his words. Was he as troubled as she?

They were safely out of earshot before he whispered fiercely, "I know this Ezra. He has come into the carpenter shop. I think only yesterday. He is a pompous old man. Not suitable at all. Have nothing to do with him."

Abigail shivered. "You know I will have no say in the matter." She tripped over an uneven paving stone and would have fallen had Jacob not grabbed for her arm to steady her.

"We will convince Alban. He would never agree to your being passed off-"

"We will pray," Abigail put in. "We will pray intently that God's will be done."

"Alban is not an unreasonable man. Just because this Ezra is wealthy does not mean-"

"He is wealthy?"

"Enough that our master carpenter himself bowed the man into our shop." Jacob studied her. "You would marry for wealth?"

"Of course not," Abigail was quick to respond. "But . . ." She looked away.

"But what?"

"Think of the needs," she said, looking back at him. "Money could do so much for so many followers."

"Are you saying you would give yourself to him for a few bowls of soup?"

Abigail was now near tears. Her lips trembled, and she was glad for the concealment of the shawl. "Jacob, don't," she pleaded. "You know I would not willingly give myself to someone for any reason. But think what it could do for you. You could be trained in something you love instead of ... instead of working as a carpenter, which you do not-"

"I am not a part of this arrangement," Jacob again interrupted. "The man is not intending another one to rear. Besides, I already know what I want to be. And when Alban gets here he will take the steps to work it out for me."

"Hush," Abigail whispered. "We are not to mention his coming, remember. Even the walls have ears."

They turned the corner leading to their small quarters. Abigail could already detect the odor that continually hung over the area. At first she had often covered her nose with her hand when entering the street. She had now become familiar enough with it to make it bearable, but she still detested the strong smell.

Jacob loathed the place. "I cannot wait to leave this place and begin my real work," he said now, his mouth twisted in disgust. "I taste raw fish throughout the day. When I become a legionnaire, I will live on fresh bread, sweets, and-"

"You know you can no longer follow that path, Jacob. Many of our leaders say that being a soldier is not compatible. Soldiers must take up arms. They must-"

"You think I don't know what soldiers do?" he burst out. "Why do you think I want to be one? I know they do their duty. That's what. Have you ever met a finer man than Alban?"

"No," Abigail agreed quickly. "But Alban did not remain with his troops. I think you may find him saying that life no longer fits with our way. Think on that, I beg you, my brother. What if your desire displeases Alban? Think what he has done for you. He only wants what is best. He loves you like a son."

Her voice had gradually risen from the whisper that they were trying to maintain. She checked herself and switched to a softer tone once again. "He would be so disappointed. He wants you to become.. ."

Jacob moved away from her. Even in the shadows of the twilight she could see his eyes shone with a different intensity. Was it pain or anger that passed over his face?

"Jacob-please," she begged, but she knew that her brother had once again shut himself away. There was no use to talk further. He would not be listening. She felt tears sting her eyes. They were almost home, but it would not be an evening of camaraderie. Even before they reached the door of the small abode, she knew that Jacob would be retreating immediately to the loft and his camel-hair bed. There would be no further discussion of Alban's upcoming visit. There would be nothing left for her to do but to pull out her musty pallet and spread it out on the floor. She, too, would retire-and pray.

Abigail arose earlier than usual the next morning, but Jacob did not respond to her call. After three further attempts, Abigail climbed the shaky ladder made of scraps Jacob had gathered here and there and peered intently into the darkness of the small upper platform. There was no form on the pallet. Jacob had already left.

Her heart sank as she climbed back down to the dirt floor. It was all she could do to keep her tears in check. Had he merely left early for his work? Had he been so angry with her for her strong words that he had decided to disassociate himself? She couldn't bear to think of the possibility of losing him again. He was all she had for family. She wanted to cling to him. To protect him-and be protected, as he had done for her the previous day. What if he had found some way to join the legion without the help or consent of Alban? What if she had driven him to it? She would never be able to forgive herself.

With a heavy heart Abigail prepared herself for the day. She would be attending the morning prayers alone. But she began her own prayers now. Prayed that Jacob might already be at the compound waiting for her. Prayed that she would be able to control her tears if he was not. Prayed for wisdom in what to do next.

She pulled her shawl closely over her face as she closed the lean-to door and propped a stick against it to keep out straying goats and chickens. She wished she could also cover her red and swollen eyes.

The sun was not yet up, though the pink flush on the eastern sky was assurance it soon would be. A bird sang in a tree and was answered by a mate resting on a stone-built wall. Somewhere nearby a baby cried. A man cursed angrily at a skulking dog. And the strong odor of raw fish assailed her nostrils.

She paid little heed to any of it. Her thoughts were still of Jacob.

The long day dragged to its end. Abigail had heard nothing from Jacob. He had not been at the morning prayers, nor at the evening meal. As she wrapped her shawl about her for the journey home, she prayed that when she arrived at their humble dwelling his few belongings would still be there, indicating his planned return.

As she crossed the courtyard, a tall man stepped from the shadows. Her weary heart accelerated when she recognized the Roman soldier, Linux. His dress uniform gleamed where the setting sun reflected off the polished brass. She could not help but notice that he did make an impressive figure. Abigail took a deep breath and would have brushed by had he not stopped her.

"Please." His voice sounded more entreating than commanding. "If I could have only a few words."

Abigail had no recourse, and she nodded, her fingers twisting themselves in her shawl and drawing it more closely about her. She was relieved when he motioned for her to step into a shadowed doorway where she would not be seen in conversation with a Roman soldier.

"I remain much concerned over Alban. I have made numerous inquiries, but I have heard nothing."

"Please, sir," Abigail dared to say, "do not ask about him any further. It could put him and Leah in great danger."

"There may still be enemies?" He stopped, then added, "But of course. Herod no doubt harbors thoughts of revenge."

"I fear so. Some memories are long when they are filled with bile."

"Then I shall indeed remain silent."

"Thank you." Abigail made as though to depart, but he stopped her again.

"Could you at least allow me to ask if there has been any word?"

Abigail paused, then nodded. "Yes."

He gave a deep sigh. "Then they are still safe-and well?"

She merely nodded again.

"I am relieved."

"As are we all."

A third time Abigail moved forward. But again his words halted her. "May I ask if he will be ... joining us soon?"

Abigail wished not to answer. Yet no doubt her own eyes betrayed her. She could no more conceal her anticipation of seeing Alban again than she could deny his coming.

"He will. But in secret. I can say no more."

"I understand. And Leah?"

"She will not be traveling."

"Is she not well?"

"She ... she is very well, I gather." How much should she say? "She ... is with child."

She was totally unprepared for the expressions that crossed his face. A smile. A longing. Then a smile again. But he said nothing. Just looked at her. Deeply. In a way that unsettled her more than she could have expressed. What did he mean by such a daring study of her half-hidden face?

Her thoughts suddenly flew back to a market day of long ago. She had gone on an errand with her mother, when she was young enough still to pay little attention to what might be happening on the streets around her. But her mother had noticed something that made her hiss, "Cover your face," giving the girl a firm nudge. Abigail had quickly complied, wondering, even as she obeyed, about other girls her age with no covering.

It wasn't until they were back within the confines of their own courtyard that her mother offered an explanation. Of sorts. Abigail did not fully understand it. "You must always cover your face when you are in the streets. Men-even older men-look at you. If they think you are bold, they will be bold in return."

"But other girls do not-"

"There are evil men who admire beauty far too much," her mother was quick to cut in. "Once they see it, they must possess it. Your father and I will make the proper arrangements for your betrothal when the time is right. We will choose a man who wishes more than a beautiful face. For now, you must cover your face to keep any of those bold eyes from evil desires. Always. Whenever you are in the streets or market. Do you understand?"

From then on she had been careful to obey her mother. But now she did not have a mother or father to make the proper arrangements for her betrothal. How was she to know if the eyes that met hers conveyed honorable intentions?

This Roman officer's expression sent an undeniable shiver up her spine. Whether from fear or something else, Abigail could not explain. She knew only one thing. She had to escape. With no further words she pulled her shawl tightly to her face and rushed past him. She would not stop if he tried to speak further.

At the next corner she risked a quick glance over her shoulder, but she saw no one.

When she opened the door of the lean-to, she hardly dared look in the loft. But she climbed the ladder to some relief that Jacob's clothing was still strewn about, though there was no sign of him.