An Echo in the Darkness(113)

“A kind offer I regret to refuse.”

“You regret a great deal, don’t you?” Her dark eyes pierced him. “Was it because of you Hadassah died?”

Marcus came to his feet. “You press too hard.”

She leaned upon her walking stick and looked at him somberly. “What will you do? Throw a poor crippled old woman into the street?” She smiled faintly at his look of consternation. “I’m too old to be afraid of anything.” She tapped her stick lightly, reminding him of the shepherd boy in the hills. “Come with me, Roman, and I’ll tell you all I remember about Hadassah.”

It was a calculated comment and he knew it. “How well did you know her?”

She walked laboriously to the door and paused there, the sunlight at her back so he couldn’t read her expression. “I knew her from the moment of her birth until the day she left with her family to go to Jerusalem for Passover.” She walked out into the sunlight.

Marcus followed her out into the street and measured his pace with hers. A few doors down the street, she entered another house much like the one they had just left. He stood at the open doorway and peered in at the interior. Everything was clean and in its place.

“Come inside,” she said.

“Your house will be defiled if I enter it.”

She gave a surprised laugh. “You know something of our law.”

“Enough,” he said darkly.

“If our Lord ate with tax collectors and harlots, I suppose I can eat with a Roman.” She pointed to a stool. “Sit there.” Marcus entered and sat. Breathing in the aroma of cooking food, his stomach growled. She pushed a small bowl of dates toward him. “Take as many as you want.” He set his mouth, watching her. She had planned this ahead.

Stooping before the burning coals, she ladled heavy gruel into a wooden bowl and set it before him. She ladled a smaller portion for herself and sat down opposite him. She pushed a basket toward him and uncovered the unleavened bread it held.

“You said you would tell me about Hadassah.”

“Eat first.”

Mouth grim, Marcus broke the bread and dipped a portion into the gruel. After one taste, he gave in to his hunger. She filled a clay cup with wine and put it before him. When his bowl was empty, she filled it again, then sat down and watched him eat. “Were you fasting or starving yourself to death?”

“Neither.”

She finished her own small portion. Noting his empty bowl, she raised her brows slightly. “More? I have plenty.”

He shook his head, then gave a bleak laugh of self-mockery. “Thank you,” he said simply.

She stacked the two bowls and set them aside. Rising stiffly, she made her way across the room and gave a soft groan of relief as she sat down on some worn cushions. “My name is Deborah.” She looked at him and waited.

“Marcus Lucianus Valerian.”

“Hadassah had an older brother named Mark. Hananiah began his training as a potter when he was very young, but he said Mark showed great talent. Hananiah saw himself as a simple potter. Mark was an artist.” She nodded toward a shelf cut into the thick clay wall. “He made that urn when he was twelve.”

Marcus glanced up and saw that the boy’s work rivaled what he had seen in Rome.

“Mark was fifteen when they left for Jerusalem.”

Marcus studied the urn with a sense of sadness. If he had shown such promise at twelve, what might the boy have achieved had he lived? “A pity he died so young.”

“A pity for us. A blessing for him.”

Marcus glanced at her darkly. “You call death a blessing?”

“Mark is with the Lord, as are his mother and father and sisters.”

A swift arrow of pain struck his heart. “Would you think it a blessing if I told you Hadassah was torn to pieces by lions? Would you think it a blessing if I told you people cheered as she died?” His own sister among them.

“You are very angry, Marcus Lucianus Valerian. What is at the heart of it?”

He clenched his teeth. “I came here to hear about Hadassah, not talk about myself.”

She folded her hands in her lap and gazed at him enigmatically. “There is little to tell. Hadassah was a quiet girl who did what was asked of her. There was nothing remarkable about her. She was timid. Every time Hananiah took his family to Jerusalem, you could see that child was terrified. Her faith was not very strong.”

“Not strong?” He gave a harsh, incredulous laugh.

She studied him. “Not as I remember her.” When Marcus gave no explanation, she shrugged. “Hadassah would have been happy to stay in this village her entire life, to marry, have children, and never venture farther than the shores of the Sea of Galilee, which she loved. She was comfortable in the security of family and friends and those things familiar to her.”