Read Avenger of Blood Online

Authors: John Hagee

Tags: #ebook, #book

Avenger of Blood (28 page)

As expected, Jacob's good humor completely vanished at the reference to Damian. “Fine. I'll be happy to leave you alone.” He squared his shoulders, then turned and marched out of the room.

Livia went back to hammering the copper while she listened to Jacob go down the stairs to the main part of the house. But her concentration had been shattered, and her enthusiasm for the piece was now lost. She sighed and dropped her tools, then stood up and walked over to the window just in time to see Jacob reach the bottom of the ladder outside the entrance below. He was wearing the fur-lined coat and high felt hat she had helped him purchase at the marketplace in Caesarea.

With a long, angry stride Jacob started walking toward the city, and Livia chided herself for managing to spread her nasty mood to him. He didn't deserve that kind of treatment. The only thing Jacob had done was to be himself. And that, Livia thought, was what had her stewing.

She enjoyed his company, at least when she wasn't working. Because she was rarely around people her own age, his friendship was especially satisfying. He was easy to talk to—and easy to look at too. Sometimes she wished she were a sculptor so she could capture in stone the square set of his stubborn jaw and the warm humor in his eyes. But her attraction to Jacob involved more than that. He was intelligent, well mannered, and well traveled. He had been places— the kind of places she had only dreamed about.

For the first time in her life, Livia longed to be more like other women. She'd always been different, and most of the time it didn't bother her. Lately it had.

She knew she didn't look very feminine. It's not that she was unattractive; her features were pleasant enough, she supposed. But not only was she taller than most men, she also earned her own living and cherished her independence. Not a very womanly thing to do, but something Livia did not want to relinquish.

In two months she would be twenty-four years old, long past the age to be married. She'd had one serious marriage proposal—well, not directly; it had come through Gregory. Her uncle had told Livia about the widower with four children who had asked to marry her. A month shy of eighteen, she had talked Gregory out of it. Her parents had been dead for two years by then, and Gregory was worried about her future; but Livia could not imagine becoming an instant mother to four children and wife to a man she barely knew, a man more than twice her age. She didn't regret her decision even though she had come to realize it might be the only proposal she ever received.

Livia sighed again and returned to the workbench; she couldn't afford to waste the sunlight. She was just different, that's all there was to it. What made her hope that Jacob would find her attractive? And even if by some miracle he did, he wouldn't be around for very long. He was terribly restless, and when spring came, he would probably return to Ephesus. Either that, or the fool would get himself killed trying to catch Damian.

Gregory had tried talking to Jacob about it once or twice since they'd taken him in, but Jacob remained fixated on his pursuit of vengeance. “You can't change a man's mind for him,” Gregory had told Livia. “Just leave him be, and pray that God will change his heart.”

She
had
prayed, but she still couldn't quite leave it alone. Talking to Jacob about his “mission,” however, was like arguing with a fence post. So they had gradually reached a tacit agreement not to discuss it. Instead, they talked about other things, especially their families. Livia understood Jacob's loss. Both her parents had died during an epidemic that had killed a quarter of the population in the surrounding area. Gregory, who was her mother's brother, had also lost his wife and their two children to the plague. Livia missed them all. Her cousin Marcia, just two years younger than Livia, had been her closest friend. How she wished for a confidante like Marcia now. Marcia would know exactly how to get Jacob's attention.

Recently Gregory had told Livia that God had brought Jacob to them for a purpose, and Livia believed that. She thought the purpose was to persuade him to abandon his quest for revenge; she couldn't dare to hope God's purpose would involve something more personal between her and Jacob. Could she?

Rebecca smiled as she watched Quintus coo and make faces at the two babies. She'd forgotten he could be so lighthearted and unbusinesslike, and she was glad she had asked Agatha to accompany her to the warehouse today. They'd brought Victor and Aurora, escorted by the ever-present bodyguard; after two months of constant supervision, Rebecca was finally getting used to having a guard around.

“I didn't know you enjoyed babies so much, Quintus.” Rebecca couldn't resist teasing him just a bit.

“Then you have a short memory,” he replied.

“Oh?” Rebecca looked up from the bolt of cloth she and Agatha were unrolling and inspecting. Most of it was ruined, but whatever remnants of the woolen fabric could be salvaged would be cut and sewn into tunics and cloaks for several members of the congregation who had inadequate clothing for the winter.

“When you were a wee thing and your father brought you with him to the harbor, the moment you saw me you would raise your hands and say, ‘Ride, Quintus, ride!'”

“And you would hoist me on your back and run up and down the wharf.”

“As I recall,” he said, “you wouldn't let me stop. Whenever I slowed down, you threatened to tell your father that I wasn't doing my job.”

The memory made Rebecca laugh. “I suppose I thought you were my personal pony in those days.”

Quintus extracted a long finger from the clutches of Victor's chubby little hand. “And I imagine this one will think the same thing in a couple of years. The difference is that I won't be running up and down the wharf quite so fast.” He stood and held the long wooden spindle while the two women removed the last of the cloth.

“I wish I had ten times this much wool,” Rebecca said with a sigh.

Agatha hurried to offer consolation. “I'm sure it will be more than enough for what we need. And it will be very much appreciated.”

Quintus dragged his gaze away from Agatha for a moment. “What would you do with more cloth?” he asked Rebecca.

Her reply was immediate and forceful. “Make blankets and ship them to Devil's Island.” She closed her eyes against a sudden memory, then explained in a soft voice, “It's so cold in the caves this time of year. I could never get warm. It's something I won't ever forget.”

Quintus thought for a moment. “We could seek permission to send a ship to Patmos this spring, if we had the goods to send, that is.”

“I'll find the goods,” Rebecca vowed, suddenly filled with determination to be bold in asking for donations. She told Agatha how Peter and Quintus had gotten permission from the military authorities to send a shipload of food and used clothing to the prisoners on Devil's Island the previous spring.

“You can't imagine what it was like when Marcellus showed up at our cave with extra blankets and clothing,” Rebecca said. “I had worn the same tunic until it was rotten, not just threadbare. John, too. It's a miracle we didn't die of exposure.”

And the irony, she thought, was that it had been Naomi's expensive clothes Peter had gathered up to send. Rebecca had recognized some of them. In fact, she had been wearing her sister's brilliant peacock-blue tunic the day Jacob had arrived to bring them home, and from a distance he had thought Naomi was there on Devil's Island.

Rebecca smiled at the memory of Jacob's confusion, but her amusement vanished as she thought about her brother. They hadn't heard a word from Jacob in two months. She was worried about him and angry with him, all at the same time.

A look of affection passed between Quintus and Agatha as they spread the fabric on the warehouse floor. It pleased Rebecca that the two of them seemed destined for happiness together. It pleased her, yet it also made her a bit envious. Rebecca had tried putting Antony out of her mind, but she missed him more than she wanted to admit. Now she wondered why she had found his attention so smothering before. Probably because she'd been trying to deny her feelings for him.

Whenever she thought about Antony, she prayed for him; afterward, she usually felt guilty for praying selfishly. Did she pray for his salvation only because it would then be permissible for her to marry him? Rebecca tried telling herself that wasn't the reason, yet she knew it was a large part of it. Once she had recognized that she'd fallen in love with Antony, her feelings had been overwhelming.

Most of the time Rebecca was fine. She had thrown herself into charitable work, and that filled up her days. But at night, when the house was finally quiet, she had trouble falling asleep. No matter how much she told herself not to, she thought of Antony and longed for him.

She knew she'd done the right thing, but at times she wondered if the hurt would ever go away. With time, she supposed it would.

In the last six weeks she had seen Antony only once, when she was visiting Helena. Rebecca had been to see her several times. On her good days, Helena was desperate for company and cherished having someone to talk to. On her bad days, she needed comfort, not conversation. And massage. “No one has the same touch as you,” Helena told her. “You always do it exactly right.”

One day Antony had arrived during Rebecca's visit. It had been awkward for all of them. Rebecca had caught her breath when she looked up to see him standing in the doorway. He was staring at her, and Rebecca thought for a moment that she had seen affection in his eyes; then his face clouded over and she couldn't read his expression. But she knew from the way he clenched his jaw that he was not happy to have found her there. He spoke a curt greeting, exchanged a few words with his mother, then quickly left the room.

Rebecca had fought not to stare at him, and when he left, she had felt abandoned as well as relieved. She had been back to see Helena only once since then; Rebecca didn't want to risk running into Antony again. It was simply too painful. And too tempting to give up her principles.

When she heard Quintus rise and greet a visitor, Rebecca shook off her thoughts of lost love and prepared to be sociable. She was stunned to see that it was Antony and Priscilla who had arrived at the warehouse. One look at the tense, haggard expression on his face, and Rebecca knew his mother had taken a turn for the worse.

“I didn't know what else to do,” he said simply. “Would you come?”

“Of course.” Rebecca stood and started to collect her things.

“Don't worry about Victor,” Agatha said. “Quintus and I will watch him until you get back.”

Rebecca nodded her acknowledgment as she fastened her cloak. She was worried about Helena and nervous about being with Antony.

“Where's Peter?” Priscilla asked.

“He's not here,” Rebecca said. “He's at home today.”

“Peter must come too,” the little girl insisted. “If Peter prays for Mother, she will be healed. I
know
it.”

Antony drew Priscilla back to his side, reining her in. “We were up all night,” he said, exhaustion evident in his posture and his hoarse voice. “I don't think Mother can make it through another one . . .”

Quintus asked, “Do you want me to go get Peter and bring him to your house?”

Antony shook his head no. “I brought a carriage. We'll go to the villa first, then home.”

Rebecca started to object but didn't know what to say. She didn't know if Peter could or would come with them. He hadn't been feeling well himself the last few days, and the cold weather made it difficult for him to get around. She also didn't know how he would react to Priscilla's request that he pray for Helena. He wasn't good in situations like this, and she hated putting her brother in such an awkward position.

If Peter wouldn't come, though, Rebecca knew someone else who could offer medical advice as well as prayer. “Perhaps you could find Marcellus and send him,” she told Quintus. “He left the house early this morning to visit John.”

In the carriage, Priscilla sat next to Rebecca and held her hand. Rebecca didn't know whether the child needed comfort or was offering it to her, but she was glad Priscilla was there as a buffer between her and Antony. She couldn't help thinking of the last time they'd ridden in a carriage together, when they had returned from Smyrna with Victor. That was the first time she had felt attracted to Antony; so much had happened since then.

Antony's eyes closed several times during the ride. He was not just exhausted, Rebecca thought, he was already grieving the loss of his mother. He must have held on to some hope, though; he'd asked them to come and pray. But perhaps that had been simply to appease Priscilla, who had been so adamant about it.

Rebecca wanted to reassure Antony that Helena would be all right, that God would indeed heal her. But would He? She had prayed for Helena at every visit. Other people from the church had prayed for Helena, anointing her with oil. Would this time be any different?

When they arrived at the villa, Priscilla scampered off to find Peter before Rebecca and Antony were even out of the carriage. By the time they caught up with her, she had cornered Peter in the library and was saying, “Please, you
have
to come.
You
have to be the one to pray for Mother, so she will be healed.”

Rebecca had no idea where Priscilla's sudden faith in Peter's ability to pray had come from. It was unprecedented. Only recently had her brother even prayed aloud in public for the first time. Was it a childish whim, this feeling of Priscilla's that if Peter prayed, Helena would be healed? Or was it spiritual insight?

Peter looked up at Rebecca, and she felt her brother's unspoken reservation. Her heart went out to him, but she kept silent. She would not try to persuade him one way or the other; it had to be his choice.

“All right,” he finally told Priscilla. “But I want to get something first.”

Other books

Grimspace by Ann Aguirre
The Lesser Bohemians by Eimear McBride
The Mandarin Club by Gerald Felix Warburg
The White Wolf by Ron Roy
Confessions of a Transylvanian by Theis, Kevin, Fox, Ron


readsbookonline.com Copyright 2016 - 2024