The Hidden Flame (42 page)

The tension she had felt building inside her suddenly found a release. "For days I've felt a growing desire to flee. Before our wedding, Alban had invited me to go to Galilee. At the time, I was certain I should remain here, where I can serve the community and stay close to you." She hesitated. "But now, since Alban and Jacob left, I have felt so afraid here. I have wanted you to take me away from here. I feel such a great tension in Jerusalem. And it is growing all the time.... Or perhaps I am imagining things."

"No," Stephen replied softly. "You imagine nothing."

"I know that God has given me a way to serve him here. But I admit ... I admit I was ready to desert it if I could convince you to leave."

Stephen said nothing in response. He merely sat and watched her, his gaze luminous. She felt like he was giving her time to find the answer for herself.

"The warning Linux passed on to you," Abigail said, "captured all my fears and anxieties in one moment. But as I prayed over this later, I had the very clear impression that I needed to hear what he said, and then to face my fears. The instructions were so powerful, so vivid, I felt like I heard the words actually spoken to my heart. That I must lean on the promises that God has given. To let go of even life, if need be, and accept his calling."

She raised her face so she was looking directly into Stephen's eyes. "And perhaps ... perhaps the hardest part, I need do that not only for myself but for those I have come to love."

Stephen responded with a nod that required his entire upper body. As he rocked, he watched her with a gaze as powerful as the morning sun.

Abigail took a deep breath and said what had now come clear in her heart. "I will not try to influence you to seek safety," she said, though her voice was shaking. "You must follow our Master-not a nervous wife's whims. I will continue to pray, but I let you go to fulfill God's calling, whatever that may mean for you. For us. You are serving here. And as long as God allows, I will be here also. Serving with you. You are in God's hands. And God knows best. And if ... if ..." She could scarcely say the words. "If you are endangered, then I pray that God will make you strong. That, in faith in him, you will stand firm to the ..." But she could not say the last word.

Stephen held her hand tightly and repeated quietly, "... firm to the end."

Later that evening, after they had returned to their little home, Stephen set the oil lamp on the small table and observed, "You look weary, my Abigail."

Stephen's tone more than his words brought Abigail's shoulders a bit higher, and she was determined not to add to his burden. The truth was, she was desperately weary. It had been a long and troubling day. Despite her prayers and best intentions, she continued to feel the tensions over the building opposition. Then there had been the strain of dealing with those in desperate need, including a newly widowed mother who had sobbed her desperate worry to Abigail over how she would care for her three small children. Abigail had tried to comfort, had spoken all the truths of God's care and provision, but it had drained her. How would she react in the woman's place? Was her own faith strong enough to carry her through ... such a loss?

She pushed it all aside and turned to her husband with a smile. "It has been a long day. For you as well, I can see."

"How good it is of our Lord to provide the gift of sleep." He settled onto the stool, looking at her as she unbraided her dark tresses. "By morning we will be refreshed enough to face another day."

Abigail nodded and unwrapped the belt around her robe. At the moment she did not want to think about what the new day might demand of her.

They prepared for the night in silence. Abigail spread out their sleeping pallet and coverings. Stephen blew out the oil lamp and stretched his lean form out beside her. Through the window Abigail could see stars, held firmly in place by the hand of God. A bright moon watched over roofs of nearby buildings. The slight breeze whispered against the curtain, cooling away the day's heat.

Abigail felt the soft sigh escape her lips. Trusting God at such a peaceful moment was almost easy. Stephen seemed to share her thoughts, for he murmured, "We are secure, my love. Our busyness sometimes keeps us from opening our hearts to God-and to each other."

Abigail turned to face her husband. She felt very comfortable with Stephen's reserved, calm nature. She understood and accepted that. She also had many personal thoughts and feelings she would have found difficult to share with another.

"I know you are weary, Abigail-but there are some things I need to say. Things I do not wish to leave unspoken for another day. Another hour. I find myself stumbling over my words. I do not express myself easily. Will I burden you further if I attempt to say them now?"

A slice of moonlight fell across Stephen's face, allowing Abigail a softened image of the man she loved. The day's hard labor and serious thoughts seemed washed away. Where his body touched her own, she felt his peace. She murmured her soft assent.

"I have always admired you, Abigail. From the first time I set eyes on you. You were so beautiful. So perfect that ... that you almost frightened me. I would never have attempted to win your heart. Never. I had no right, no position from which to seek your hand. It would have been like ... like a street urchin asking for a pearl."

Abigail held back a gasp.

"Then I was approached by our leaders. Would I marry you? You can imagine my shock. I struggled. I prayed. How could I? Would God really entrust such a lovely woman to my care?

"What I didn't know then, Abigail, was that I should not have been in such awe of your beauty. I should have been in awe of your spirit. Your faith. Your absolute commitment to God-and to others. Your striking eyes daily sought ways to serve. Your smile readily offered comfort, compassion, and encouragement." He lifted one of her hands in both of his own. "These strong, gracious hands continually minister to the needs of others, and your slender shoulders carry burdens far too heavy for them to bear. Even the healing of your leg has become a witness to so many.

"But it is your faith that I have come to treasure the most, dear one. Your confidence in God. Your trust in him-and in me-that gets us through each day. Yes, you speak of fear, but even amidst the fear you continue to serve. To trust. To believe God's promises."

She felt the tremble through her body. Stephen, more than anyone, knew of her fear. And he spoke of her unwavering faith. Did he know how fear gripped her at times, making her far from confident? Would he speak so if he knew ... ?

"It is true we all have fears attack us," he was saying. "We do not speak of it-but it is there. In those times we realize more than ever that we need God. That is when we pray with the most sincerity. That is when he answers with the most fatherly compassion. His presence is most intimate, most precious, and most reassuring, in those times of fear."

Abigail felt his words flowing over her, into her heart. She was sorting through what she might say in response when he reached out to touch her face.

"Do you know what I fear, Abigail? Daily? Losing you. I have struggled with it ever since our betrothal vows. During morning prayers, as well as with my last breath at night, I pray for your protection. Were it not for God's grace I would have snatched you away from all this and fled long before now. You are my rock, Abigail. You remind me of why the Lord's calling is so important in my life. We must share his truth-to change our world. To make it a place filled with love rather than hate. With peace, rather than war. With mercy, rather than revenge. With holiness, rather than evil.

"As a man, that is my prayer-my desire-that through his word the world will be a changed and safer place for you-and for our little ones. I have always longed to have children. And could I have envisaged the woman to be their mother, she would be exactly like you. Strong, devoted to God. And beautiful. Only now, since you have become my wife, do I begin to understand what love is. What our Lord desires for his bride. His followers. Now I know why he was willing to die."

Abigail felt the warmth of tears tracing their way down her cheeks. She could not speak. Her heart was too full. She turned her face so it rested upon his shoulder. God had blessed her with a wonderful man. A husband she would never truly deserve.

I love you, her heart cried. I love you so.

And as soon as she wiped away her tears and was able to speak, she would find the words to tell him so.

C H A P T E R

THIRTY-SIX

EZRA STOOD OUTSIDE the Freedmen's Synagogue. He was distantly aware of the sun beating on his head and shoulders and of the sweat trickling down his neck and spine. He knew there was shade beneath awnings to either side of where he stood. But in the most active portion of his thoughts, he was pleased with the discomfort. It suited the moment. It fit with his internal rage. He would have vengeance, the retribution his sister deserved.

"For Sapphira," he muttered. He ignored the nagging voice that told him these were true followers of the Law, that they had not caused her death, but in the divine unknown she had disobeyed God. And that the events he had set in motion were wrong-as wrong as Sapphira's lie.

Ezra pushed the thoughts aside. He was becoming adept at that, stifling such arguments before they could grasp his full awareness. Rage had become as constant a part of his life as the sun, the heat, his own ragged breath.

Saul waited on the square's opposite side, surrounded by a cluster of dark-robed Pharisees. Even from this distance Ezra could see the brooding ire, the tension that dominated this group. Saul caught his eye. Ezra made a swift motion with one hand, signaling the young man to wait.

"Here they come now," a man beside him muttered.

"You may address me as sire," Ezra snapped.

The man stiffened. Ezra turned and looked at him. Whatever the ruffian saw in Ezra's face was enough to smother his comment. He said, "Yes, sire."

Ezra turned back. "Be ready. Move only on my signal."

He was surrounded by a dozen handpicked men. Most came from his warehouses and caravans, guards and former soldiers. Ezra suspected one was a spy for the Zealots. Two others worked in his countinghouse. They were all good with their fists, with clubs and daggers and swords. They all took his coin. They would do his bidding.

"All right. Do as we planned. Disperse among the crowd. Wait for my sign."

The men moved with the stealth of professional fighters, slipping in among the growing crowd standing in the synagogue's forecourt. Stephen clearly was the reason they had come. The crowd around the man was dense. But Ezra had studied these followers. He was increasingly certain they would put up no struggle. Protest, certainly. But when violence started, they would stand and weep, and they would make no move to protect their man. Just as had happened on Golgotha with their leader. Ezra and his gang should have no problem. And if they did, well, his men had weapons hidden beneath cloaks and lashed to their thighs.

Ezra searched through the crowd as he moved forward and saw no one bearing arms. His men knew what to do.

The Freedmen's Synagogue had been erected by Hellenized Judeans on pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Many had started life as slaves, while others had such heritage in their past. The synagogue was not far from the Damascus Gate and the stables used by the caravan masters. A marble structure built in an almost Grecian style, with a pillared portico similar to that of Solomon's Porch, had four broad stone stairs welcoming those who spilled out of the synagogue's forecourt. Stephen stood on the top step. A second crowd of women, most wearing head shawls, assembled on the side away from where Ezra stood. He wondered if Abigail might be among them, and his bitterness deepened.

But his resolve was shaken by what he saw next.

The man known as Stephen did not immediately address the throng. Instead, he knelt beside one pallet after another, laying hands upon ailing folk who had been deposited on the next-to-top stair. A group of other disciples joined him, encircling one after another, praying intensely, then moving on. Time after time the people lying there and others gathered about them shouted aloud in a joy so powerful it sounded almost like a cry. The crowd responded with shouts of their own.